The Sandglass
by Gage93
Summary: Time measured by location.  Distance measured by position.  A tapestry.  Casefile.  Season 11.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Nothing belongs to me.

**Spoilers: **You may be spoiled. Takes place in Season 11, so anything up there may be in this.

**The Sandglass**

**Chapter I**

A person could visit McCarran International at any time of year and it was never a quiet airport. People streamed in and out, coming to Las Vegas with hopes and dreams and a wad of cash, others leaving with a wad quite smaller, or on rare occasion, perhaps a little larger. The airport was as busy as the city, bustling with life and crowds of people, a gateway to their dreams, an exit from their failures.

Familiar to the layout, and traveling with only a carry-on, Sara meandered through the crowds, her pace brisk as she sought her exit and tried to escape the noise of all the other arrivals. Glass doors slid open before her and she stepped outside, immediately feeling the difference in the air, uncomfortably warm, even into the late evening, so much warmer than the cool late autumn air she'd left behind.

Opening her phone, she pressed one number and held it, waiting for the phone to signal another number, one with far more digits, and begin dialing. She held the phone to her ear, waiting.

One ring, two, and no answer. Five, and the call was transferred to voicemail. She sighed. "Hey Gil, uh, I'm at the airport…just got in. Give me a...um...call; let me know you got this. Bye."

She closed her phone, sighing again. Holding onto the phone and looking down at it, she frowned, wondering what kept him from answering his cell. He would be up, and if not already at the university, than at least on his way. He should have picked up.

Her phone went into her pocket. She walked a few paces, past a couple of tourists climbing into a cab, and signaled the next one for herself. Inside, she gave the driver the address for the lab. She'd go there first. She didn't want to go to the condo just yet.

The cab headed south on Paradise, pulled out onto the 215 and Sara pulled out her phone, clutching it in her hand. Where was he? Shouldn't he be phoning her back? Her head fell back against the seat. She stared up at the upholstery on the ceiling of the cab. She wished they hadn't left things the way they did, but they had. She'd had a plane to catch and Grissom wasn't great with emotional arguments unless he had time to formulate words. They'd left with a hasty goodbye, a muffled promise to call, an equally soft response, quiet words that did nothing to soothe the pain of their argument and her departure, but only ended up adding to it. They were good at that, hurting each other, leaving each other with pain or misunderstanding, running from a fight they needed to have. Perhaps long distance wasn't working. Grissom had suggested as much. He was probably right. She was so tired, from the work, from the travel, from having the same conversation over and over.

The cab turned north on Las Vegas Boulevard. Her eyes closed. The grip on her phone tightened. "Ring," she whispered, trying to signal her phone to vibrate. It never. She opened her eyes, turning them to the window. The cab driver tried to make conversation, but she was too distracted. She kept her grip tight on the phone, willing it to ring.

The cab continued onto North Tropicana. Sara's eyes were fixed to the window. The grip on her phone had not loosened. They reached Westfall, and the cab slowed to a stop. She thanked the driver and tipped him, grabbing her bag. Closing the cab door, she opened her phone, checking the time. It had been nearly a half an hour since she first tried to call him. She sighed again and pocketed her phone. Her ID badge came out of her bag, and she strolled into the building.

Stopping by the reception desk, Sara waited for Judy to finish a call. She leaned over the desk, her eyes watching as Judy's hand scribbled a message onto a slip of paper. The small woman's chubby fingers moved frantically, but the writing came out neat and Sara wondered how she could do that, scribble not only legibly, but with admirable precision.

"Sara!"

Sara straightened and turned, seeing Catherine walking quickly towards her.

"Great, you're back."

She smiled. "Hey Cath."

"And you're early. I didn't even think you'd make it in tonight. I have you scheduled to come back tomorrow."

Sara shrugged. "My plane just got in. I thought I'd check out what's going on here."

"You okay to work? It's a busy night."

"Sure."

Catherine's eyes wandered over her. "You ready to go out?"

The strap on Sara's bag was falling off her shoulder. Her hand came up and pulled the strap back in place. "Yeah, I'll just have to stop by my locker."

Catherine handed her a slip. "Good. A 419 just came in, just off Audrie. Greg's checking on evidence from a B&E, but I'll send him out to help when he's done."

"Sure."

Catherine eyed her again. "How was Paris?"

She forced a smile. "Good...it was good." She hoped it sounded more convincing to Catherine's ears than it did to her own.

"Good." Catherine paused, her eyes still studying Sara. Then, she spoke again, her voice a little higher. "Well, I have my own 419 at Bally's, so I'll see you later."

Sara nodded. "Yeah, later." She adjusted the strap on her bag again, edging it back up her shoulder. Walking towards the locker room, she passed by the break room, glancing in to see Henry and Mandy watching the television, shaking their heads back and forth. _I'll find out later,_she thought, and readjusted her bag strap once again.

Her steps took her to the locker room. Once inside, her bag fell to the floor. She stood before her locker, opening it to see the pictures she'd taped up upon her return. One was of Grissom at the research station in Costa Rica. He'd been crouching low to the ground, examining a plant, and she hadn't been able to resist capturing the image. Another photo was of the two of them, caught in an intimate pose along the river Seine. The picture had been snapped by the Dean of Biology at the Sorbonne upon their welcome to the city.

She fingered the picture, her thumb brushing along the image. Taking a deep breath, she let her hand drop and fell back onto the bench behind her. Her hand slipped into her pocket, fingering next her phone. The pads of her fingers tapped at the phone. She stared forward at the images in her locker. Forty-five minutes now and he still hadn't returned the call.

Taking another deep breath, she stood, reaching for some work cloths from her locker. Grabbing them, she flung the locker door shut and moved into a bathroom stall. She changed in the small space, grabbed her traveling cloths and moved back into the locker room. Traveling cloths getting hung in her locker, Sara took out her vest and closed the locker door once again.

On her way past the break room, she glanced in again. Henry and Mandy were now gone. The television was off. She continued on, past the AV lab, glancing in to see Archie watching something on the screen and shaking his head in the same way Mandy and Henry had been shaking theirs earlier. She frowned, wondering if something had happened in her absence that Catherine had forgotten to make her aware of. Sara stepped into the AV lab. "Hey, Archie."

Archie's head shot up in her direction. "Hey, Sara."

Sara approached Archie's chair from behind, glancing at the screen over his shoulder. There were a couple anchor people talking on a news broadcast, though Archie had put the volume on mute. "What's going on?"

Archie turned back to the screen. "Some big explosion at a café just off some University campus in Europe."

Her heart stopped. Her hand slid into her pocket and her fingers gripped her phone. _Explosion. Café. University campus. Europe. _Grissom hadn't called her yet. She felt her throat closing up. It hurt to breathe. "What?" She barely managed to get out the question, the word coming out short and raspy, her voice barely able to utter it.

"Yeah," Archie continued, oblivious to her distress. "It was huge. Seventeen people killed, pretty much everyone who was in the vicinity. A dozen more are critically injured."

Her ears were ringing. _Europe? Did he say Europe? Did he say University campus? _Breaths were going in and out, but she wasn't quite sure how. Those breaths seemed like they were in short supply. Her throat hurt. Her head hurt. _Seventeen dead? At a café?_ The explosion would have had to have been very large. _Seventeen. In Europe. At a University. Everybody around. Seventeen. Seventeen people who stopped for a coffee early in the morning before heading to the University, for class or otherwise. _"Seventeen?" she whispered.

"Yeah. Apparently, there were a series of explosions set off on a line. Lots of mayhem. It would have been difficult to escape all of that."

_Seventeen. Everyone in the vicinity. Difficult for anyone to escape… _The grip on her phone tightened. She closed her eyes, rubbing at her temples, willing herself to calm. Her mind raced to the café Grissom liked to grab his coffee at before heading into his office. Grissom, who still hadn't returned her call. She looked at the time on the computer screen. She'd called Grissom fifty minutes ago. "When?"

"About an hour ago."

Sara stood frozen. Her body began to quiver. Her hand squeezed on her phone.

"Sara? Sara are you alright?"

Unaware of the movement, Sara nodded slowly. She cleared her throat. "Where?"

"Bern."

Her shoulders fell with relief. The ache in her head began to ease. The grip on her phone loosened just slightly. The breath left her chest and suddenly, breathing didn't hurt so much. She could feel Archie's eyes sweep over her. "Bern, Sara. The University of Bern. I'm so sorry. I didn't realize…"

She shook her head. "No." The word came out loud and quick, cutting Archie off. "No, it's okay."

_Bern._ She felt a little foolish. If she hadn't been waiting for Grissom's call, she wouldn't have immediately imagined Paris. Why hadn't he called yet?

Leaving Archie to stare worriedly after her, she strode towards the exit. Her phone came out of her pocket and she listened to the ringing once again. Once again, she got voicemail. "Hey Gil, I know you'll call when you get my message, but I'm heading out to a scene now, and I just…" she paused, pinching her eyes shut, "wanted to see if I could catch you before I head out. I…I love you."

She closed her phone, pocketed it and headed out to her scene.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

The Denali pulled up along the yellow crime scene tape. Placing the large vehicle in park, Sara turned off the ignition and unbuckled her seatbelt. She stepped out of the truck, keys in hand, hitting the remote to open up the back. Moving around the truck, she took out her kit, closed the hatch and locked the vehicle. As she ducked under the tape, she could see David already crouching over the body, having beaten her to the scene. Talking to groups of people around the tape was Detective Vartann. Briefly she wondered if Catherine had sent her to the scene with Vartann in order to avoid any conflicts in working with him now that they word had spread of their relationship. Perhaps Catherine had learned from Grissom's and her mistakes or perhaps it was that Catherine was just so much more open, and so much better at playing the game. Perhaps it was just coincidence.

She smiled at David as she approached, taking a moment to wonder at how long he and Vartann had been waiting. Catherine had said that the call had just come in, so David must have headed straight to the scene. Sara bent over beside him. "Hey, David, I didn't expect to see you here before me."

David smiled. "I just got here. I came straight here as soon as I got into the lab. I wanted to clear one scene so I could head to another."

Sara nodded. "What have we got?"

"Multiple stab wounds to the chest and abdomen. She's been dead just under an hour and a half. Paramedics pronounced on arrival."

Sara looked at her watch and couldn't help but notice that her plane had arrived and hour and fifteen minutes before and Grissom still hadn't called her. She shook her head and looked back at David. "That would put her death at around 10:40."

"10:46 to be precise."

Sara nodded. Above and behind her, she could feel Vartann approaching. "Victim's name is Ingrid Polt, twenty-two. Her boyfriend ID-ed the body." Vartann nodded towards a young man, hands and shirt covered in blood, smears running over his cheeks and forehead, hair matted. "Says he went into the store to pick up some water and she stayed outside to have a smoke; got attacked while he was in there."

Sara raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Vartann continued, "sounds pretty flimsy to me too."

Sara eyed the young man from her kneeling position. "The blood on his shirt doesn't look like cast-off."

"How can you tell? The whole shirt is covered in blood. He was bent over the body when paramedics arrived. Maybe the extra blood is covering up the cast-off."

"It's possible."

Vartann gave her a look. "I'm going to keep interviewing the eyes around here."

"Thanks."

He nodded and turned away. Sara turned her attention back to the victim. The girl was tall, thin, had light blonde hair and, from what she could tell, had fair, flawless skin as well. She was dressed fashionably, in a black strapless dress ending just above her knees. A black satin wrap lay next to her.

"Pretty girl," she mused.

"Yeah," David returned.

Sara lifted her camera and began taking stills of the body. Focusing on one point, she snapped a photo and placed her camera down. "David, can I touch the body?"

"Yes. I'm just waiting for you to tell me when I can take her."

Sara smirked. "I'll try not to keep you waiting." Lifting one of the victim's arms, she turned the wrist over, studying the bloody palm and wrist. The victim's hand had a slice running across it. There were several other small abrasions on the hand and arm. "I have defensive wounds here." She lifted her camera and took more photos before placing the camera back down. Her eyes moved to the spot she'd first focused on. She placed her hand on the girl and reached behind her, into her kit. Agile fingers carefully patted tape down on the girl to lift some fibers from the girl's dress.

Her eyes wandered over the victim, her fingers following with more tape. After some time, hairs and fibers removed, Sara sat back on her heals. She sighed. "Okay, I think we're ready. Can you help me roll her?"

David bent down beside her, rolling her body so that Sara could work her fingers over the girls back. Carefully treading over the body, Sara removed more trace and placed her tape-lifts into her kit. While David went to retrieve a stretcher, Sara changed gloves and checked her phone. It had now been over two hours since she'd called him and no return call yet. She sighed, grasping the phone, trying to focus on work and not the pain she felt in the lack of response from him. _Where was he? _The idea passed and suddenly, she didn't even want to think about it.

David returned and so did her focus. She placed her hands beneath the girl and felt her phone vibrate. _Great, _she thought, knowing that the likelihood that it was Grissom finally returning her call was large. She couldn't drop the body on David just to retrieve the call. She helped David lift the body onto the gurney, and then, into the coroner's van. Normally she would return with the body, but at the moment, she was the only one working the scene. She would have to catch up with the body later. Removing her gloves, she bagged them and took out her phone.

The call had been from Grissom. It was such a relief to know he'd called. After those two minutes where she let her imagination run irrationally away, the two minutes where she feared she'd lost everything, she was so thankful to see his name on her screen. She so wished she'd been able to answer the call, just wanting to hear his voice. She looked back at the scene and at Vartann, and decided she could take a short break to check her voicemail and return his call. She pressed the code for her voicemail and listened.

"_Hi, Sara. I got your call. Sorry, I was…" _His voice paused and she took that moment to absorb how strained his voice sounded. _"Caught up in something. Thank you for calling me and letting me know you landed safely. Call me again when you get this…please." _He paused again and she couldn't help but note how sad and pained he sounded. The next words were quiet. _"I love you too."_

Sara sighed and closed her eyes. He was caught up in something, forgetting that he'd asked her to call when she got in, or forgetting when her flight landed. Somehow it didn't seem to matter which it was. She thought of his last words, how quiet and wounded they sounded, how they'd matched hers in tone. This was too hard. She pressed down on the send button, calling him back.

The call went straight to voicemail. "Hey," she spoke, trying to make her voice sound light. "We keep missing each other. You've probably headed off to class now, and I'm at my scene, so…I'll try you later." She paused a moment, her voice growing quiet. "Bye."

Snapping her phone shut, she began photographing the rest of the scene. She took in blood spattered pavement, the pool of blood surrounding the space where the victim had been, a small area in the blood pool where the blood seemed thinner, an abandoned package of cigarettes – Vogue Super Slims, one cigarette sticking out slightly above the rest as though someone had been pulling it out, two plastic water bottles, full, lying on the cement, some footprints in blood leading towards alley, towards the store and towards the street, the two paramedics speaking quietly to each other and to Vartann over by the ambulance, the grieving boyfriend who looked convincingly lost as he sat on the curb. Her camera moved over the crowd, taking various stills of the onlookers. Her steps brought her along side the bloody shoe prints leading into the alley. Not far in, the shoe prints faded and disappeared. She sighed, snapping one last photo, and moved back in the direction of the crime scene.

Sara approached Vartann and the two paramedics. "Hey Gary, hey Dale," she spoke, looking at the two medics. "Can you tell me what you saw when you arrived?" she asked, trying to get a more comprehensive idea of the scene.

"Yeah," one spoke, pushing off the back of the ambulance. "We got a call out to a 415, female victim with stab wounds. When we arrived, the victim's boyfriend was over top of the victim, pressing on the wounds. The police pulled him off of her and we tried to work on her, but she'd lost too much blood. We pronounced."

Sara nodded. "When you were working on her, did you step in any blood?"

The two men nodded. "It was hard to avoid. I…uh…also kneeled in the blood pool while trying to revive her."

Sara looked back to the pool and the area where she'd noted the blood was thinner and more matted. The blood must have been drying when the medic had kneeled in it. "Okay," she spoke, removing a large bag from her kit. "I'm going to need your boots."

After the paramedics slipped their boots into the bag, Sara took a moment to look the medics up and down, her eyes landing at the pattern of blood on the knee of the medic who'd kneeled in the blood pool. She smirked. "I'm…uh…going to need your pants, too."

The medic blushed. He nodded to the ambulance. "Can I…?"

Sara laughed. "Yeah."

She watched as the medic climbed into the back of the truck and turned to the other medic. "Was there any weapon around the victim or the victim's boyfriend when you arrived?"

He shook his head. "No. We assessed for danger. There was nothing around."

Sara turned to Vartann. "Did the responding officers remove any weapon?"

Vartann shook his head. "No. He could have dumped the knife."

Sara nodded.

The other medic stepped out of the ambulance in fresh cloths, holding out his blood stained pants. Sara held out a bag for him and watching him drop the pants inside. "Thanks."

He nodded. "So, are we…?"

"For now." She turned to Vartann. "I'm going to talk to the victim's boyfriend, get a shoe lift."

"I'll come with you."

She and Vartann strolled towards the victim's boyfriend. Sara stopped before him and looked down. "Hello, I'm Sara Sidle. I'm with the crime lab."

The young man looked up at her and nodded.

"Can you tell me your name?"

He nodded again. "It's Drew…Bray."

"Drew, can you tell me what happened?"

There was another nod. She watched as the young man took a deep breath. "We were out, walking along the strip. We ended up at the Tropicana and Ingrid was getting tired. We're staying at the Sahara, so I thought we'd take the monorail back up, but we couldn't find the entrance to the station. We circled around the MGM Grand looking for it. I decided to go ask the clerk at the convenience store over there and get us some water at the same time. Ingrid wanted to stay out and have a smoke, so I went in without her."

"You don't smoke?"

He shook his head. "I never thought I'd go out with someone who did either, but on Ingrid, it just seems European and glamorous."

Sara lifted her hand, gesturing it in the air. "Did you hear a scream?"

The young man shook his head. "I didn't hear anything. I came out of the store, and she wasn't there. I looked around for her, and saw her body lying by the alley. She was just lying there, bleeding." His hand came up to his mouth. He seemed to choke on his words. "I…I ran to her, lifted her head into my lap. She was…she was struggling to breathe. I pressed my hands to her wounds. I was yelling for someone to call for help, ran back into the store to ask them to call. Then, I came back and held her again, pressing my hands back on her wounds, just trying to stop the bleeding and I think I began pleading with her. I…I don't remember anything else."

"Okay." Sara nodded. "You're sure you didn't hear a scream?"

"I…no."

"Did you see anybody when you came out?"

He shook his head again. "No."

Sara kneeled down before him, her eyes wandering over his form. "Drew, I'm going to have to take your cloths."

He nodded, lifting his hands to remove the shirt. Sara placed a gloved hand on his arm. "We'll have to do it at the police station."

"Oh, okay."

"For now," she continued, placing a large tape-lift before him, "can you step on this? We need to eliminate your footprints."

She watched Drew stand up and step down on the tape. He shivered before her. It was warm out, but still the middle of the night, and there was a bit of a breeze.

"Were you wearing a jacket tonight?"

Drew Bray looked at her, confused. "Um…yeah, a light one."

"Where is it?"

"I took it off to place on Ingrid's wounds."

"Where is it now?"

She watched him look around. Her eyes followed his. She saw the victim's wrap lying on the ground, but no jacket.

"I don't know," he whispered.

"Can you open your mouth?" she asked, pulling out a swab. His mouth opened and she swabbed it. Placing the swab in her kit, she looked up at Vartann. "I'll finish processing him at the station, just as soon as Greg gets here." She glanced over at the young man and watched as he shivered again.

Sara turned back to Vartann. "I'll work on the scene until Greg gets here. I still have to get to the lab and process the body before Doc Robbins can cut her open."

Vartann nodded. "I guess I'll keep interviewing until you're ready to head into the station."

She smiled. "Thanks."

Turning back to the scene, she tread carefully around it, placing markers and photographing them, lifting footprints and bagging the victim's wrap, the water bottles, and then the carton of cigarettes. Carrying bags of evidence towards her truck, she smiled as Greg approached.

"Hey Sara, good trip back?"

"Long. I came straight here."

"Ouch, no rest for the weary."

"No kidding."

She watched as Greg glanced over at the scene. "What have we got?"

"Female victim, twenty-two years old, stabbed."

"Where do you want me?"

Sara took a deep breath. "Well, I haven't swabbed any of the blood yet, so you can begin with that. I have to process the victim and process the victim's boyfriend. I've processed the rest of the scene, taken stills, footprints, placed markers around blood and trace. I don't have a murder weapon though, our victim's boyfriend is missing a jacket and our victim doesn't have a purse, which is…"

"Unusual."

"Yeah. Can you finish processing the scene, and check the alley and any nearby dumpsters?"

"You thinking killer dumped the weapon?"

"Possibly. No weapon around and if it's the boyfriend, he would have had to have dumped it somewhere. It could also be robbery, or made to look like robbery, and if that's the case,"

"There may be a purse dumped somewhere."

"Yeah. Anyways, I'm going to take in this evidence and log it in, process the body, and then head to the station to process the victim's boyfriend. I'll be in the lab after that."

"Alright. Later."

"Later."

Sara watched him duck under the tape and then she nodded to Vartann. He approached as she placed the remainder of her evidence and her kit in the back of the Denali and closed the door. She turned to him. "I'll text you before I head to the station. It may be awhile."

"Alright."

She moved around the truck, opened the door and sat inside. Her phone came out. It had been an hour and a half since she last tried calling him. His class would be over. She debated whether or not she should try again. Needing to hear his voice, one side won out and she pressed down on a single digit.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III**

Evidence logged in at the lab, Sara made her way down to the morgue. She moved through the halls, grasping her cell in her hand. She'd missed Grissom again when she'd tried at the crime scene, leaving another message on his voicemail. Approaching her destination, she let out a frustrated huff and placed her cell back in her pocket.

A shiver ran up her spine upon entering the morgue. Tightening her lab coat to ward off the chill of the cold floor, Sara pushed open the doors that led to the washing room where her body was awaiting. It was even colder inside the room and Sara wondered at the changes in temperature her body had been experiencing lately, cold to hot, cool to warm to cold. It wasn't unusual to experience those changes in Vegas, walking into the morgue on a hot day, but that night she felt even cooler, as though the cold had permeated into her being.

Taking a cursory glance around the room, she noticed two other bodies awaiting autopsy, both processed and washed. Outside the room there had been another four bodies lining the hall and she guessed that they were from a multiple she'd heard that Nick and Ray were working with Brass. Her eyes moved to her body, the young Ingrid Polt. Sara pulled up a stool and lifted the sheet, uncovering the corpse. Carefully, she began scraping beneath the girl's fingernails.

Humming under her breath, Sara continued working, the occasional lyric coming out between hums. Her fingers lifted one of the girl's arms and she studied the defensive wounds, puckered red lines covered in blood, contrasting against pale skin. The arm felt cold, even through latex gloves and Sara dropped the arm, letting it fall back to the table.

Fingernails scraped, Sara moved on to the fingerprints. She began to print the girl, carefully lifting each finger, rolling the ink and pressing each digit onto the print card. Her eyes studied each print on the card, taking in the various lines and curves and swirls. She placed the print card onto the table and sat back down in her stool, taking time to look over the body, her eyes moving over the form. Ingrid Polt was a beautiful girl, really, tall, though slightly shorter than Sara, thin, though slightly curvier, with soft, feminine features. Sara took a comb from her kit and combed out the corpse's hair.

Taking the trace and sealing it into several small bags, she put it aside for Hodges. Retrieving a pair of scissors, Sara carefully cut away Ingrid Polt's clothing, bagging each item as she cut. Her eyes glanced over the form, taking in each wound, the red gashes and the purplish blue bruises surrounding. She carefully laid the body out, her two gloved hands delicately trying to straighten out limbs that had settled into rigor. With time, great effort and great care, she eventually succeeded. The body laid flat upon the table, Sara put away all of her evidence, cloths, prints and trace, placing it all by the door and away from where she would wash the body.

She pulled down the hose attached to the shower head and from head to toe, began washing the body down. Blood stained the water as it fell from the body, turning the water first a light red and then fading into pink. Her eyes followed the stream of rose colored water down the drain. Before her, Ingrid Polt's wounds were revealed.

Doc Robbins entered just as she was finishing. He glanced over at her body before moving to one of the already washed bodies. "I'm sorry, Sara. It will be awhile before I get to your body."

Sara smiled slight. "It's alright. I still have to inject plaster into these wounds and make a mold."

Doc Robbins nodded. He moved over her body. "Hmm," he began, "Multiple stab wounds…five to the chest, one to the abdomen, fairly uniform, indicates one weapon. It looks like your victim was stabbed with a sharp, smooth bladed knife. The bruising around these three wounds," he ran his finger in the air over the body, forming a triangular shape, indicating the wounds he was speaking of, "suggests the knife pushed in right to the handle, so the depth of the wound should give you an indication of blade length. Judging by these wounds, I'd estimate that the width of the blade was approximately an inch and a half at its widest point."

Sara grinned. "Thanks, Doc."

He nodded. "Finish up what you need to do here. Are you planning on sitting in on the autopsy?"

She nodded.

"I'll page you when I'm ready to perform it, then."

Doc Robbins left her, pushing his gurney out of the washing room. Sara took a ruler and held it beside one of the wounds, snapping a picture. Doc Robbins was right. The measurement of the wound came in at just under an inch and a half. She repeated the process for the remaining wounds and then stood again, exiting the morgue, returning only a few short minutes later with mix for plaster. She poured the powder into a bowl, adding water, and stirred. When the plaster was mixed, she carried the bowl to the corpse, filled a syringe and carefully began to drip the plaster into each wound.

Her eyes began to blur and glaze over as she began working on the last wound. It had been a long night, preceded by a long flight and her fatigue was beginning to show. She finished up with the plaster and decided to take a short break while the plaster dried. She stood, washing her hands and then pinching the bridge of her nose before she drying her hands. She was tired and hungry and thought that perhaps it was time she ate as well. The only food she'd had in the past sixteen hours had been the food the plane had served on the overseas flight.

She exited the morgue and with weary steps, climbed the stairs to the main level. She wondered if Greg was back yet, but somehow doubted it. Unless he hit pay dirt in the dumpsters right away, he would be awhile sifting through the garbage. She'd take another break after the autopsy, and maybe talk to him then about any possible new evidence or lack there-of. She dropped off the evidence that she had, trace for Hodges, prints for Mandy, fingernail scrapings for the new DNA tech filling position in the ever revolving door since the loss of Wendy, and then continued on.

The television was on in the break room. Bobby Dawson was inside, and so were Nick and Ray. They all greeted her individually and then turned their eyes back to the T.V. Walking over to the sink to fill a kettle and boil water for tea, Sara glanced over at what they were watching. It was ongoing coverage of the explosions at the café off the University of Bern campus. Though curious about what had happened, watching only served to remind her that she had not yet spoken to Grissom. She'd left him three messages. He'd left her that one. She braced her hands on either side of the sink and dropped her head forward.

Taking a few deep breaths, she let her head hang. It had been hours since she'd last attempted a call. He hadn't attempted any in that time. She had time now, she supposed, but no privacy. With Nick here, she was sure she could duck into his office, but for some reason, it felt odd to try to call Grissom from an office he used to call his own. She sighed and pushed herself up, grabbing the kettle and placing it under the tap. She'd make a cup of tea, take it outside, and hopefully, hopefully, speak to her husband.

The voices coming from the screen behind her helped to inform her of what was going on. She could hear a reporter's voice, the accent distinctly female and distinctly British, describing the destruction. She thought back to those few moments where she'd assumed Paris and not Bern and she could almost imagine Grissom's and her haunts blown to pieces. She could picture his cell phone lying blackened on the ground as she tried desperately to get through. Her eyes closed.

"Do they think it's terrorists?" she heard behind her. It was Bobby Dawson's voice.

"Are you kidding? A terrorist attack? In Switzerland?"

Sara winced at Nick's words and then turned, placing her kettle of water on the stove as Ray began, "One definition of terrorism, Nick, as described in the World Dictionary, is 'the systematic use of violence and intimidation to achieve some goal.' It also describes terrorism as 'the act of terrorizing.' Though in the United States we tend to think of terrorists as belonging to an organization aimed at targeting western countries for violent attacks as a political means, that isn't always necessarily the case. In fact, that definition is rather narrow in scope. Any person who produces a state of fear may be described by some as a terrorist. Furthermore, if that person believes they have been wronged by a state or institution, and are committing their act in order to make up for, or draw attention to their grievance, they may also be regarded as a terrorist. Bombing a University campus may certainly qualify as an act of terrorism, especially if done by somebody who believes that they are addressing a wrong."

"Yeah, and what does the OED say?"

"It still uses the original, historical definition, 'government by intimidation,' as in the Reign of Terror, from period just after the French Revolution." Ray paused. "See, the definition is problematic. According to the OED, the state is the terrorist, which opposes many more contemporary definitions, which state that a state cannot be a terrorist. States and heads of State have a certain legitimacy, which some believe, excludes them from any definition of terrorism. Various institutions still can't agree as to what constitutes terrorism. It depends on who you ask, but according to some, admittedly a minority, if any person or group of persons decide to address a perceived wrong by carrying out an act of violence and inducing fear, that person, or those persons could be considered terrorists."

Ray paused briefly. Sara watched his eyes turn back to the television. "University campuses have a history of being places where such perceived grievances are addressed. Look at what happened at the University of Alabama last February. A professor killed three colleagues over a tenure dispute. Had she chosen to address the situation in an even more violent manner, trying to create a state of panic or fear, targeting the University and not just those colleagues within her faculty, she may be considered a terrorist.

"In 1992," he continued, "Something similar happened at Concordia University in Montreal. A professor killed four colleagues and wounded one other when facing dismissal for charges of harassment."

"Or the Montreal massacre at l'ecole Polytechnique," Sara cut in, unable to help herself. "The shooting was not done by a professor who perceived his or her self to be aggrieved, but by a man denied admission into the engineering program. He went on a rampage, targeting women for taking what he believed his place in the program. The man, Marc Lepine, had even stated in his suicide letter, that his purpose was political, wiping feminists from the earth. He's considered a mass murderer, but also could certainly be considered a terrorist by many."

She turned away from Nick's smirk, knowing it came from using an example of a man targeting women and glanced at Bobby, whose eyes were darting between Nick and her. She looked to Ray, who only nodded. "That a person could take it one or two steps further and take out their grievance by committing a larger act of violence, aimed at creating terror, is not a big leap."

"Alright," Nick conceded. "It could be an act of terrorism, if that was the bomber's aim."

The room grew silent. Three sets of eyes turned back to the television. Sara's eyes turned to the kettle, listening for the water to begin boiling. She took a mug and placed a tea bag inside. Once the kettle began to whistle, she lifted it from the burner and poured the steaming hot water into her mug. Adding honey, she stirred the blend, opened the refrigerator, pulled out an apple and then took her apple and her mug outside.

The air was cool in the dawn of the early morning hours if they could yet be called that. It was still dark, as dark as Vegas, with all its lights could get at night. There was a bit of a fog, moisture in the air, mist that suggested they may be hit with a bit of early morning rain. She hoped that something could stave it off, for awhile anyways. Greg was still at their scene, working in the dark, beneath neon lights and headlights and street lights. If the rain could hold off until he could also work in sunlight, he may be able to bring in evidence that would disappear if the rain were to begin now.

Sara shivered and took a sip of her hot tea. Her apple went into her pocket, to be eaten in a few short moments. Both hands were around the mug, taking from it heat to circulate through her body. Her wedding ring pressed against the ceramic, bringing her attention to it. She glanced down at it and then adjusted the mug in her hand, grasping it by the handle, freeing her other hand to reach for her phone. She dialed.

Again, there was no answer. His phone was on. It rang its usual five times before voicemail picked up. She left another message, holding her mug to her chest in the fog, waiting to see if it would clear.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV**

Back in the morgue, Sara set about carefully extracting the molds from Ingrid Polt's wounds. It was a slow and delicate task and Sara worked at it patiently. She'd been trying to master the process for years, after having once overheard Grissom telling Warrick that casting was an art. She'd spent years trying to prove that she was as good at it, if not better. Looking back on it, she felt foolish now almost like she should have been Annie Oakley, in _Annie Get Your Gun_, singing to Frank Butler, "Anything you can do, I can do better." Only, Warrick wasn't the love interest. No he was just the competition for the attention of the love interest. She let a sad smile brush over her face.

The first cast pulled out smoothly and she held it in her palm. She turned it over, examining closely, and then, smiled. Sometimes doing things for the wrong reasons, or in her case, only partly for the wrong reasons as she genuinely wanted to improve at her job, still result in a positive outcome. The mold looked good. She now knew what the weapon looked like, about five and a half inches in length, a quarter inch thick and just under an inch and a half in width, narrowing and curving slightly at the end. The other molds were not as distinct or faultless, but that was to be expected. The blade didn't penetrate all of the way in the other wounds. The one cast was distinct enough. If Greg's search for the weapon around the scene came up empty, this would help them to identify what they were looking for. She pulled out her phone to check in with Greg.

Greg's search for a knife had, up to that point, come up empty. Sara's initial instinct was to run with the mold of the knife, checking the mold against numerous knives that fit the measurements, but she had yet to process the victim's boyfriend. Placing the mold aside for later, she rewashed the corpse, removing the flakes of plaster in and around the wounds, and then covered her victim with a clean sheet. Her mold was logged in with the other evidence, and then she was on her way to the police station, feeling as though she was being pulled in all directions at once. There were so many places she needed to be, and not all of those were in Vegas.

Striding through the halls of the police station, Sara nodded at various officers' heads, passing Brass's office with a wave. She entered one interrogation room and stopped, stepping in to see Drew Bray now dressed in red coveralls. Holding out a large bag, she opened it so that Vartann could drop the young man's shirt in. Another bag came out for his pants, and a final one for his shoes.

She was silent as she worked swabbing the blood from his hands and cheeks and forehead. Vartann had already begun interviewing him, beginning when he watched the young man strip from his cloths. An interrogation would come later, when more evidence was processed and they knew more about what they were dealing with. She pushed his sleeves up and examined his arms. Her gloved hand picked at the blood in his hair. Drew Bray stood silent, letting her process him.

Stepping back, she studied him again. His head hung low. "I'm going to have to call her parents," he whispered.

Sara nodded. "Where are they?"

"Switzerland. Ingrid's Swiss."

She took a moment before speaking. "Drew, what was your relationship with Ingrid like?"

There was a pause. Drew Bray's shoulders fell. His eyes lit a little. "Wonderful."

"No problems, then?"

He shook his head. "No, I mean, not between us. We're at a point where we…were trying to figure some things out, but we were going to get married. We're here to get married." He looked at her, staring at her. She wasn't sure if he was staring at her or through her or past her, but she felt like he wasn't seeing her. He heaved forward, his head jerking, a strangled sob rising up out of him. His shoulders shook and Sara could only stare at him.

"I'm sorry," he spoke, his words exiting like a weep. "I'm sorry, I can't…"

"It's okay," Sara interjected. "I just need to take your prints, okay?"

He nodded. Sara held out the fingerprint scanner, and guided each finger over it. She dropped his hand and pulled Vartann aside. "You can try to talk to him again, but I don't think we're going to get anything comprehensible out of him in this condition."

"It may be the best time to try, before he composes himself."

"If he did this and it's an act, then I'll bet he's already composed."

She followed Vartann's eyes as he looked over at the young man. "He's either very bereaved or a very good actor."

She studied him. "My guess, right now, would be very bereaved."

"You still have to find his jacket," Vartann reminded her.

She sighed. "I know." Until she did, she would process the evidence. Vartann could talk to the young man if he wanted. At the moment, she didn't want to be a part of it. Later, later when she knew more. Later, when she could detach herself a little better, and focus more on what the evidence was saying than on Drew Bray's emotional state. She turned back to Vartann, just as her pager buzzed. She sighed. "You can question him. I'm going to take this stuff to the lab, and then join Doc Robbins for the autopsy. My body is ready. I'll let you know when we have more."

Vartann nodded. "Okay."

Sara took one more look back at the victim's boyfriend before heading back down the hall with evidence in hand. Twenty minutes later, after dropping off the evidence collected at the police station and taking a short bathroom break, she stepped back into the cold morgue, a gown covering her clothing.

The room was empty, bar from the corpse lying on the autopsy table in the middle of the room. Sara moved towards the body, letting her eyes wander over the once beautiful figure, wondering how that beauty could be marred by such violence. "What happened to you?" she whispered.

The doors swung open and the noise startled her. She jumped back from the table.

Doc Robbins laughed behind her. "It's only the living, Sara."

She flushed slightly. "I know. Anything you can tell me yet, Doc?" she asked, changing the subject.

Doc Robbins moved past her. "I did a quick exam on your victim. She had sex recently, consensual. I found semen in the vaginal track, along with minor reddening and abrasions. I sent out a sample to DNA. I also sent a blood panel out to tox. Henry has it."

Sara nodded, her eyes darting to the file under Doc Robbins's arm. Doc Robbins noticed her glance and pulled the file out from beneath his arm. "I have the X-rays on your vic. Take a look at these chest X-rays," he spoke, fastening up the images to the lit screen on one wall. "She sustained quite the blow to the chest. Fractures to the sixth and seventh ribs, very recent."

Sara walked over to the images and stood beside Doc Robbins to study them. She tilted her head up, carefully examining the images, her eyes lingering on the two small lines etched into the bone where the fractures occurred. "Some of the bruising could come from the blow then. Those wounds didn't penetrate like we thought they would. Initial attack, maybe? Killer surprises her with a blow to the ribs, and then pulls his knife on her?"

"You're the CSI."

"Hmm," Sara continued, still studying the images. Her eyes moved over the screen. "What's this?" she asked, nodding to the forth rib. "It looks like the bone was nicked."

Doc Robbins leaned in. "Yes. I noticed that as well." He stood beside her, carefully going over the X-ray. Nothing else stood out. From the side of her eye, Sara noticed Doc Robbins nod towards the body. "Shall we?"

Sara smirked, following Doc Robbins over to the autopsy table. She took a stool and sat, watching as Doc Robbins made his Y incision. Slowly, Doc Robbins peeled away the skin, revealing everything beneath. Sara thought about what Grissom had once said. _"This is all that we are when we die." _She shivered slightly, and not for the first time, disagreed. _We are all that we leave behind,_ she thought, _and it's more than just a body._

"Punctured lung," Doc Robbins spoke, snapping Sara out of her dark reverie. He pulled out the lung, holding it in his hands, and showed it to her. "Could be from either the weapon, or the broken rib."

Sara carefully fingered the puncture, her touch featherlike. In her pocket, her phone began to vibrate. _Damn,_ she thought, hating the timing of it. She wondered if the call was from Grissom, or if it were Greg or Vartann with an update on the case. She shifted slightly, waiting for the vibrating to end, and then refocused on Doc Robbins.

He placed the lung off to the side, and then carefully pulled out the other organs, holding them in his hands to examine them. Sara watched as his eyes moved over first the heart, then the spleen and finally the stomach.

The contents of the stomach were emptied into a dish and the victim's last meal was before her. Flakes of meat mixed with tiny pieces of vegetables. She could make out bits of carrots, and what looked to be zucchini in with small noodles. Doc Robbins held up the dish to his nose. "A little vino, perhaps?"

Sara shook her head, laughing slightly. "I know you're good, but bonus points if you can tell me the variety."

Doc Robbins just looked at her. "You can confirm the wine with tox." He placed the stomach contents aside and continued to root around inside Ingrid Polt's cavity.

Some time later, the organs were placed back inside the cavity. Doc Robbins flipped the skin back over. "COD was exsanguination. The wounds bled out at a fairly moderate rate, no real surprise there. What I did find surprising is that apart from the lung, only the spleen was punctured. All of the vital organs remained in tact, so as I said, the bleeding out was not quick. The puncture in the lung, I believe, may have come from the rib fracture and not the knife, though either scenario is equally possible. At any rate, the puncture is small, though she would have had great difficulty breathing when she died."

Sara nodded, her face solemn. It wasn't a speedy death and she felt horrible for the young woman, the final moments of her life spent bleeding out on the sidewalk, her breathing painful and irregular.

She stood up. "Thanks Doc." Turning, she strode to the doors of the morgue, pushing them open and escaping into the hall. She tore off her gown and gloves, throwing them into a hamper just outside the door. Pacing slightly, she pulled her phone from her pocket and checked her missed call. It had been from Grissom. She checked the time and sighed, 7:13. It was a quarter after four in Paris. He was probably just leaving the University and on his way home. She checked her voicemail.

"_Hi, Sara. I'm just leaving the University here. I thought I'd try calling you, hoping that you were wrapping up for the morning."_ His voice paused. She could hear a sigh. _"I won't be home for awhile. There is a bit of an impromptu, informal faculty meeting over dinner, here, so I guess…Try to call me if you get this right away, otherwise, I'll call you when I get in." _There was another pause as his voice trailed off. _"Sara, I," _another short pause, his voice quiet, _"I love you."_

Closing the phone, she shut her eyes and sighed. She wondered if she could catch him before his dinner. She was about to open her phone again when it vibrated in her hand. Looking at the screen, she opened it. "Hey, Greggo."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter V**

The call from Greg had lasted only a few short minutes. He had called to inform her that he was on his way back from the scene. A light rain had begun, the rain she'd been waiting for, but thankfully, had held off until Greg had finished with the crime scene.

Sara stepped outside, letting the rain fall upon her. She shivered, the cool morning air giving her a slight chill. It was refreshing though. Nearing the end of a normal shift, Sara needed to clear her head. She thought again about how Grissom had called and she had missed it. Now he was out, at his informal faculty meeting, which often only meant one thing, the professors of that faculty decided to go out for dinner and drinks, something they did occasionally, and often with the graduate students joining them, but something Grissom rarely ever partook in before. Even though the conversation could be stimulating, Grissom still preferred to hole himself up in the flat, so why now? They'd had a fight, sure, but Grissom hated company when he was afraid conversation could turn personal, especially when it was personal to him. He was never comfortable in those situations. What or who was driving him to join them now?

Closing her eyes and tilting her face up to the sky, Sara let the rain cool her head. She had a small headache, her head hot with a dull ache. Rubbing at her temples, she breathed in the misty air and shivered again. She debated taking a short break while she waited for Greg, but opted, instead, to look over Drew Bray's clothing. Returning inside, she moved to the evidence locker, signing out each item of clothing. Box in hand, Sara meandered through the halls until she reached an empty layout room.

Laying the clothing flat upon the large layout table, Sara examined the blood stains. The blood looked as though it pooled on the shirt, but there was no sign of spatter. It looked consistent with what Drew Bray had told them; the blood came from holding onto the body.

There was still Drew Bray's jacket to examine though. Greg had recovered it near the paramedics' rig. He spoke as though it had been cast aside during the attempts to resuscitate Ingrid Polt, and said that the two EMTs had confirmed it. They had removed it and cast it aside without a thought. Somehow it got lost amongst the other sponges and bandages they had used to try and stem the bleeding. The traffic surrounding had concealed it from both Sara's and Vartann's sight.

Greg was also returning with an abandoned purse with blood spatter and smeared blood on it, an item they hoped to confirm was Ingrid Polt's. There was no wallet inside. Greg's search for a weapon had also come up empty.

In an effort to examine the blood patterns better, Sara patted paper down over the blood stains and pinned the paper up against the lit side wall. Her eyes wandered carefully over each piece of paper, one for the shirt, three others for each section of pant. Her focus was concentrated on the paper for the shirt when Greg popped his head in.

"Hey, Sara."

Sara looked up and smiled. "Hey."

"So I sent out a blood sample from the purse. We'll see if it matches Ingrid Polt. Maybe her boyfriend can also identify it. I also got a few of partials off of the leather. They're with Mandy."

"Where's the purse now?"

"I've logged it into evidence, along with everything else I collected." Greg approached and stood beside her. "What are you looking at?"

"I'm trying to see if I can find any evidence of spatter on the shirt."

Greg tilted his head forward, studying the shirt. "I don't see any."

Sara sighed and nodded. "I found a little, on the bottom of Drew Bray's pant legs, but it is consistent with blood splashing up from the blood pool and landing on his pants. I think it comes from running over to her and stepping in the blood." Sara paused and turned to Greg. "Is his jacket in evidence?"

He nodded.

"Does it look like there is any spatter on it?"

"No. It's completely soaked in blood. Consistent with holding it down on her wounds."

"Can you bring it here?"

"Yeah, I'll go get it."

"Can you also grab a laptop and pull up the pictures from our scene?"

"Sure. I'm on it."

Sara smiled as Greg left. She continued studying the clothing as she waited for him to return. He returned several minutes later.

Greg handed her the box, taking his laptop from the top and started to pull up the case photos. Slicing open the box containing Greg's evidence, Sara pulled the jacket from its bag, laying it out onto the table. "Absolutely no sign of spatter."

"It could be covered by the blood," Greg interjected disinterestedly, his eyes still on his screen.

She sighed. "I know."

Peering over Greg's shoulder, she looked at the case photos. Greg pointed to the screen, to a bundle in blood near the ambulance. "This is where I found the jacket."

"I took this photo. I can't believe I missed it. I really thought it was part of the EMTs' things."

"You know, the EMTs should have just left it where it was, or moved it off to the side. They totally cast it aside, without even thinking of contaminating our evidence. And they should know better. They know not to touch anything unless they have to, and to let us know when they did. It was a total rookie mistake."

"Yeah, well," Sara began, her tone not really apologetic or conciliatory, but coming out even, in fact, "Ingrid Polt was still clinging to life when they arrived. They don't really think about evidence when they're trying to save a life. They probably threw it aside and then forgot about it, gathering it up with all the other stuff they used, and sweeping it off to the side for us to collect later."

"I guess. It makes our jobs harder though."

Sara nodded. "They're trained to respond to emergencies and to save lives. Seldom do they think about evidence collection, unless the vic is already dead. There was still a breath of life in Ingrid Polt when they'd arrived." She pointed up to the screen. "Look at the footprints. Two sets leading to the ambulance."

"Our two paramedics."

"Right. We'll confirm when we compare the treads to their boots." She pointed to another spot on the screen. "One set of footprints leading up to the wall where Drew Bray was sitting."

"Right, his own."

She clicked on the keypad, bringing up a different photo. "A set leading into the store and back out."

"Victim's boyfriend calling for help?"

Sara shrugged. "Likely. It jives with what he told us."

"Do they look similar to the ones entering and exiting the store?"

Sara leaned in, studying the print. She clicked back to the previous photo. "They look similar. Definitely a dress shoe; could be a loafer, which is what we collected off of him."

She clicked on the keypad again, hitting the button several times until she came to an image of the body and surrounding blood pool. "A couple of slight voids in the blood pool, likely where Drew Bray sat and held the vic. Blood pool is thinner over here," she stated pointing to a small patch where the blood looked blotchy, as though the pool had been disturbed after the blood had begun to dry. "One of the paramedics kneeled down. It should roughly match the stain on his pants."

Sara clicked past a few more photos. "One last set of bloody treads leading into the alley."

"Where the purse was found in the dumpster."

Sara nodded. "But there are no prints coming back out." She turned her head to Greg's. "If Drew Bray killed his girlfriend and dumped the purse to make it look like a robbery, there would be another set of shoe prints leading back to the body. Besides, the shoe print looks like it came from a sneaker. And where would he have dumped the knife, or her wallet or ID? He would have had to have dumped it somewhere. Everything he told us is corroborated by the evidence. Other witnesses seem to back it up. Drew Bray did not do this." Sara sighed. "There goes our only suspect."

"So I guess it was a mugging."

"Yeah and our killer made a fast break. He could be out mugging other tourists as we speak. I'll call Vartann."

"You know," Greg spoke, almost distractedly, "if I were going to make a fast break from there, I'd take the monorail. It's fairly cheap if you're a resident."

"Greg," Sara exclaimed, "you're a genius."

Greg looked at her, his eyes wide. "Monorail."

"Right. You know Drew Bray said they were planning on taking the monorail, but had trouble finding the station, which isn't really surprising. If you don't know where you're going in the MGM Grand, it is easy to get lost. They circled around the outside instead of staying inside and going in through the Star Lane Shops or the Studio Walk. Quick, help me put this all away. We'll compare all of the shoe treads later. Let's get to the monorail."

Swiftly, they re-bagged all of the evidence and sealed it back into the two boxes. Each carrying a box, they strode towards the evidence locker and logged it back in. Then, their brisk steps led them to the exit. Sara turned to Greg. "You start on one end; I'll start at the other."

Greg let out an exaggerated huff. "I guess no breaks for us then."

"Hopefully they haven't emptied the trash on any of the cars."

"Or at any of their stations. Which end do you have?"

"The MGM Grand. You take the Sahara." She smirked at Greg. "Have a good drive. I'll update Vartann."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter VI**

Outside, the light rain had gained a little more strength, transitioning from near nothingness to a light shower. Pulling on a jacket, Sara stepped outside, under the cover of the parking lot. She could still feel the breeze channeling through the enclosure, so she hurried to her Denali, climbing in and closing the door.

It was a short drive over to the crime scene, where Vartann would meet her. She had decided to start with the alley and move towards the MGM Grand Station. Parking, she pulled on a ball cap, opened her door and stepped out into the rain.

For several minutes, her eyes perused the crime scene. The yellow tape was now gone. The rain had washed away the bloody footprints, leaving behind faint traces of red tread, distorted by droplets of water striking the blood and pushing it outwards. What was once a pool of blood was now a pool of pink, blood-stained water. Sara let out a relieved sigh, thankful that the rain had held off until after the scene had been processed. How much evidence would the rain have taken had it come earlier?

Wiping droplets of water from her forehead, Sara lifted her cap off and readjusted it. She could feel her hair curling up in the rain, the edges lifting around the edge of the cap.

Vartann pulled up and parked his car next to Sara's Denali. Sara watched as he pulled his jacket tight around his body. "Where are we starting?"

"Footprints in the alley. They fade near the dumpster Greg found the purse in. The blood may have dried enough by then to stop leaving marks on the pavement. We'll see if we can trace a route to the monorail station."

"Any blood that may have dripped from his person would be washed up by the rain by now."

"I know. We might see some red staining though." She sighed. Her lips pursed for a moment. "You know, if I were to take the monorail from here, I would go through the MGM's parking garage. It's huge, easy to get lost in, and to dump anything our killer may not want to carry."

Vartann nodded, following her around Audrie to the entrance of the garage. Sara stopped, looking at the steps leading up the seven stories along the side. "Well, access to the shops is on the bottom level, so I don't think we'll have to be checking all those other levels."

"We'd need some cadets."

Sara grinned. "Let's just try the most direct route from this entrance and work our way out from there."

Vartann held out his hand, indicating he would follow her lead. Sara slowly began to creep through the lot, her eyes going over every inch of the path. They moved slowly, stopping to glance around. Vartann veered off from her, walking along the outside edge of the parking garage. Sara continued forward.

She was bent over a piece of garbage when Vartann called out to her. "Sara, come take a look at this."

Sara stood up, glancing around until she saw Vartann over by the side wall. Striding over to him, she asked, "What is it?"

Vartann nodded at a garbage bin. Sara peeked down, seeing a navy blue sweatshirt. Sara pulled on her gloves and reached into the bin, lifting the sweatshirt out. Her eyes took in the splotches of dark matter decorating the shirt. The shirt was too dark to tell if the spatter was blood, but to her eyes, it appeared as though it could be. She took out a swab and swiped at the material, and then applied it to a Hemastix strip. "Positive for blood."

"Wouldn't want to walk through the Star Lane Shops wearing that."

Sara nodded. She eyed the sweatshirt, turning it over. "Blood smears on the back. I think he wiped his hands and face on it. Maybe he left us some of his own DNA." She lifted her camera and snapped a couple of photos before pulling out a clear bag from her pocket and lifting the sweatshirt inside. She sealed the bag and looked up at Vartann. "I think he walked along the edge of the garage, unless he already knew where this garbage bin was."

"Makes sense," Vartann added, "less visibility." He glanced down at the bin. "Anything else in there?"

Sara peeked inside and reached in once again. "I have a wallet. Looks like a woman's." She handed it to him.

Hands gloved, he lifted took wallet from her and opened it. "No cash, no credit card, no driver's license, no passport."

Sara leaned over Vartann's shoulder. "What is in there?"

Vartann continued to rifle through the wallet. "There are some other cards here, foreign; I can't read them. Looks German, I think." He held out a stack of cards to her. "How's your German?"

Sara smirked. She took the cards from him, studying the print. "My German is terrible." Almost nonexistent would be a more accurate response. Apart from Gesundheit and danke schön, there were few other words she would know or recognize. Flipping through the cards, she found one that looked like a student card. "Here we go, Universität Bern, expired last June." Sara looked at the black and white photo on the card. "It looks like our vic," she paused and handed the card back to Vartann, "and it has her name on it."

Vartann stood and glanced around the parking garage. "Well, we know the escape route."

Sara glanced around as well. "Yeah, well, if he went through here, chances of him having taken the monorail are looking pretty good."

"He could have gotten on the monorail looking like just another tourist, but paying Nevada fair. Cheap, fast escape route and he ditched the stuff that would make him look conspicuous."

Sara nodded. She continued to rummage through the bin, finally deciding just to pull the bag out. "A couple of food wrappers, some plastic bottles, don't people recycle?" She rummaged around in the garbage a bit more and sighed. "No knife."

Vartann nodded. Sara cleaned up the trash, placing it back in the bin, leaving the plastic bottles off to the side and hoping that whoever emptied the garbage would choose to recycle them. Pulling off her gloves and bagging them, she looked over at Vartann. "I'm going to take this stuff back to my Denali. Can you call a uniform to watch over my vehicle, seeing how it won't be in plain sight?" Sara asked, thinking back to the time Nick's truck had been stolen right in front of them. "I wouldn't want to break the chain of custody."

"You got it."

"Then, I'm going to head over to the elevator that goes up to the monorail station, and print it. Can you pull surveillance from the parking garage, as well as the Star Lane Shops and anything around the station? We can get it to Archie."

"Sure thing."

"Great."

Sara picked up her evidence and walked it over to her vehicle. Pulling out her kit and locking the evidence in the back, she waited for a uniform to arrive before heading back inside the parking garage. Taking the route she surmised the killer must have taken, she walked slowly, her eyes checking the path to make sure she did not miss anything. She exited the parking garage, strolled through the Star Lane Shops and stepped inside the elevator. Doors open, Vartann directed the light traffic around the resort to the station's other entrance. Sara pulled out her print dust and began printing.

"MGM security is pulling all of their surveillance for us. We can pick it up before we leave."

"Great. Thanks."

Vartann nodded. He glanced around the elevator. "Anything?"

"A ton of prints and a ton of smudges. It'll take Mandy awhile to get through these."

Vartann nodded. "Elevators…"

"Yeah," Sara replied, the word coming out in a huff of breath. She lifted a couple of prints and looked up to see Vartann pinching his eyes. He looked tired. "Have you taken a break yet?"

He shook his head. "I was supposed to have breakfast with Catherine if we could manage it."

Sara smiled. "From what I hear, she'll be awhile yet too."

Vartann nodded. Sara cocked her head and looked over at him, a question on her lips. She decided to take a chance. "How's it going with you two?"

He gave her a non-committal shrug. Sara scrunched her face. Yeah, she knew the feeling.

Vartann shook his head and looked over at her. "You had a break yet?"

"A short one."

"After this, maybe we should grab a coffee."

Sara smiled. "I'd like that. I could use a coffee."

Vartann gave her a short laugh. "Sanders could probably use one as well."

"Greg? Yeah. The way this is going, he's going to end up processing the monorail himself. I still have to process all of this. The way this is looking, a double is going to turn into a triple."

"No rest for the weary."

"You know, Greg said the same thing earlier."

"Must have known it was going to be a long night."

"And day."

Sara continued lifting prints, finishing the buttons on the panel and making her way across the rail. She finished off and stood, stretching her back. Placing the prints into her kit, she nodded at Vartann to step inside, and then pressed the button to take them up to the MGM Grand Station.

The elevator doors opened and Sara looked around. She sighed. "I don't even know where to begin."

"Well, he would have had to go through the ticket gate."

"And it looks like someone cleaned the gates this morning," she spoke, looking at the sparkling metal.

Vartann looked where she was looking. "Probably this morning before they opened. Lives up to its advertisements. It is clean."

"Yeah. That also means they'll have cleaned all of the other stations and the monorail. Greg can look for all the evidence he wants, but chances of him getting anything usable are pretty slim. I'll call him and see where he's at."

Vartann nodded. Sara pulled the phone from her pocket, and unconsciously checked to see if she'd missed a call from Grissom. He hadn't called back yet, meaning he wasn't home yet. She sighed; late dinner for him. Did he help kill a bottle of wine? No, he wouldn't. It was only Thursday; he still had class the next day.

She called Greg and waited for him to answer, tapping her foot on the floor.

"_Sanders."_

"Hey Greggo, where are you at?"

_"The Sahara. The monorail just pulled into the station here. People are just disembarking. I'll be on it in a few seconds."_

"Great. Look, the MGM Station was cleaned this morning. Chances are, so was the monorail."

"_Yeah, I noticed that here at the Sahara. Still, I'll make my way through the cars and see if anything turns up. Did you get anything?"_

Sara grinned into her phone. "A bloody sweatshirt and Ingrid Polt's wallet. We found them in the MGM Grand's parking garage. I'm taking them back to the lab right now."

"_Cool. I'll check in with you later."_

"Bye Greg."

Sara closed her phone and glanced down at the screen. She frowned, realizing she'd missed a call from Grissom while she was on the phone with Greg. _Sure, _she thought, _what were the odds of him calling in the two minutes she was on the phone with Greg?_ Unbelievable. It had to be some sort of cosmic joke.

She turned back to Vartann. "Greg's going to keep checking. We can pick up those surveillance videos and head back to the lab."

"Get a coffee to go instead?"

"Yeah. I'll get the video surveillance from security."

"And I'll head over to the Starbucks by the Studio Café. What can I get you?"

"From Starbucks? Can you get me a Grande caramel macchiato?"

"Of course."

"Thanks."

They walked together to the Starbucks, and then Sara left Vartann to head off to security. As she walked, she held her phone up to her ear to listen to Grissom's message.

_"__Sara, I hope you're asleep, but knowing you, you're still at work. Sorry, I just got in."_ He sighed. _"__Look, I guess, call me when you get this."_

Sara closed the phone and let out her own sigh. He just got home? That meant the informal, impromptu dinner had run a little long and he had stayed for a couple drinks. Since when did he become so sociable? That question left a bitter taste in her mouth and she quickly let out a breath. She shook her head. Was she ever going to get to talk to him? She'd been back in Vegas for over twelve hours now. She was too busy with work to call him now. Besides, even at this time of day, the casino was too noisy. He would be up for a couple more hours. Perhaps when she got back to the lab, she could take a short break and call him.

When she arrived at security, the surveillance tapes were ready for her. She slipped the tapes into her kit and then made her way back through the casino to the Starbucks.

Vartann handed her the hot drink. He held his own drink and a paper bag in his hand. Sara eyed the bag. "What's in the bag?"

"I figured you'd be hungry. I picked up a few muffins. The lemon poppy seed is for Catherine. You can choose between the other two."

Sara smiled. "Thanks. What do I owe you?"

"Don't worry about it."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Sara sipped on her drink and walked along beside Vartann, past the front desk and down the escalator to the Star Lane Shops. They made their way through the parking garage and out to Audrie. Sara nodded at the officer standing guard by her vehicle, opened up the back and placed her kit inside. Vartann waited beside her, holding out the bag of muffins once her hand was free. Peeking inside, she withdrew a carrot muffin, and smiled. "Thanks." He nodded and opened her door for her. Sitting inside, she placed her drink in the cup holder, while Vartann closed her door for her. Placing her key in the ignition, she freed her hand to fasten her seatbelt. Then, she started up her vehicle and gave Vartann a short wave before heading back to the lab.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter VII**

Stepping back into the lab, Sara moved about the various smaller labs, dropping off evidence. It was well into day shift and the day shift lab techs were moving through their own backlog and working on evidence given to them by day shift CSIs. Sighing, Sara knew that it would be some time before she got any results of her own.

Her jacket wet, Sara headed for the locker room. She opened her locker and removed her jacket, hanging it next to her travel cloths. She sat and watched as the cuffs on her jacket's sleeves dripped slowly onto the floor of the locker. Her eyes moved to the photos of Grissom and she stared at them, sighing. Her shoulders fell and her lips pressed together. Her fingers began playing with her wedding band, twisting it on her finger. Her thumb rubbed over it. She should call him, she knew. She'd wanted to speak to him, to hear his voice answer hers for so many hours now. She hated that the only words she'd heard him speak in those hours had been strained words spoken quietly into voicemail. She wished she could take back their last several minutes together. Not the argument. No, they'd needed to have the argument. She'd wished they'd resolved something though, but she still wouldn't have taken back the argument. No, she wished she could take back their goodbye, the quietly restrained farewell, the tentative, uncertain question asking her to call, her equally soft nod that she would. She wished they'd said goodbye as they should have, a tender kiss, only love and not sadness in both their eyes. She'd wished they hadn't had to say goodbye at all. She wished she's been with him, and hadn't had to live those irrational moments of fear when she'd heard a cafe in Europe had been blown up and Grissom hadn't called. She'd wished for those few moments of their parting back just so that if something had happened to either of them, he would know, would never doubt, just how much she loved him.

The long distance had created doubts. He'd taken that extra semester in Paris, his choice; she'd extended her stay in Las Vegas, her choice. It felt as though they were living three lives, his life in Paris without her, her life in Vegas without him, and the third life, the distant third, but really, most important, that shortened life they were living together, when they managed to be in the same place at the same time. Why was that the shortest of their lives? Why was their time together so fleeting? Why did she have to hear his name spoken to her so often, to remind her of this, of his being in Paris, of her being here, of two lives entwined, but only occasionally meeting?

Sara let out a breath and pulled out her phone. She pressed down the button to dial, when Catherine walked it. Quickly, Sara shut her phone.

"Hey Sara, you heading out for the day?"

Sara looked up at her supervisor. "Uh, no, not just yet. There are a few things I want to check on first."

Catherine opened her locker, and leaned in. "It's a good thing you take all of that time off to visit your husband, or I'd be seriously worried about the amount of overtime you put in."

Sara sighed. There was that reminder again. "Yeah," she responded quietly. She placed her phone back into her pocket. She could feel Catherine's eyes on her, appraising. She looked up and gave a weak smile. Her smile grew a little when she found Catherine holding a paper Starbucks bag, the bag the muffins Vartann had bought had been in. "You done for the day?"

It was Catherine's turn to sigh. "No, I wish. Just grabbing my jacket to meet Vega over at PD." Catherine took her jacket and closed her locker. "Well, don't work too long. You've got to be tired after a long flight and working," Catherine checked her watch, "Thirteen hours now? Go and get some rest, so you can return to work fresh."

She'd wanted to work through, had readied herself for a triple, but she was so tired. "Yeah, okay. There are only a couple of things I want to do anyways." She stood and pulled a lab coat out of her locker, pulling it on. "Later, Cath."

"Bye, Sara." She followed Catherine from the locker room.

Peeking into the AV lab, Sara was surprised to find it empty. She was tempted to watch the video surveillance footage herself, but she was too tired to sit and watch a screen. She didn't know how many hours she'd been up now, only that she's barely gotten any sleep on the plane ride over, an hour maybe over the Atlantic, and none after she transferred flights in New York. The video surveillance would have to wait for shift that night.

She still didn't want to go to the condo yet, though, so Sara logged out the bloody sweatshirt and all of the pairs of footwear she collected, carrying the items over to an empty layout room. She laid the shirt out on the table and began to inspect it, hoping to find some hairs or saliva or other trace upon it. She examined it closely, finding a few shed hairs, but none that had a follicular tag upon them. Hoping they could try to use a polymerase chain reaction to try and extract any trace amounts of DNA, Sara lifted the hairs and put them aside for DNA.

Slowly, she began lifting all of the other trace from the sweatshirt, her gloved hands patting clear tape over the cotton/polyester blend. Her fingers went over every inch of the sweatshirt, lifting every piece of trace from the fabric. Placing the tape lifts aside, Sara's eyes moved over the shirt. There was a small saliva stain within the smears of blood on the back of the sweatshirt. She swabbed it for DNA and set it aside.

Sara hung the shirt on the wall, studying it. She took photos of the blood spatter on the shirt and began to measure the area where the blood spatter had landed. She pulled the shirt from the wall and placed it back onto the table. Carefully, she began taking samples of the blood spatter on the shirt, wanting to get it to DNA for a comparison. Samples taken, she pushed the shirt aside.

The various pieces of footwear came next. She pulled out a laptop and brought up the bloody shoes impressions she had lifted. Beginning with the paramedics' boots, she was able to match their treads, one size ten, one size twelve, to the boot treads leading back and forth to and from the ambulance.

Next, she pulled out the loafers, size ten and a half, that she'd taken off of Drew Bray's feet. She looked at the tread on the bottom and had difficulty comparing it to the other treads found at the scene. The bloody treads leading to and from the store and to the place Drew Bray had been found sitting looked almost waffled and had no clear impression. They were size ten and a half though, had a broad heel, and could have easily been made by a loafer. Drew Bray's loafer had a large crisscross pattern that could, she surmised, make a waffle like impression if covered in enough blood.

Deciding the best impressions to compare to would be the ones leading back from the store after most of the blood would have disappeared from the tread, Sara pulled up a new screen. From the sets of shoe prints leading back to the body, Sara pulled up the clearest tread and began to compare. The gap between the tread on Drew Bray's loafer and on the shoe print closed. They looked more similar, though it was still not conclusively the same tread. She'd have to get someone to run in a pair identical ink soaked loafers to be sure. She looked at the make and model. She'd call Vartann and ask him to hunt down an identical pair before next shift.

The last shoe treads from the scene came from a sneaker, also size ten and a half. They disappeared and faded into nothing in the alley. She scanned the tread through the SoleMate database. Waiting, Sara put away all the other evidence, sealing it back into boxes. She stacked the boxes and leaned against the table, her eyes closing with fatigue. Minutes later the computer let out a soft ding and she looked up. The database came out with a New Balance 623 men's cross trainer as the best match. She closed her eyes. They had the shoe. They just needed DNA, trace, prints and AV to come up with something if they hoped to find something.

Sara logged the evidence back in and headed to the locker room. Just as she entered, her phone began to vibrate. Her fingers dove into her pocket, pulling the out the phone. She didn't even check the call display before opening. "Sidle."

_"__Sara,"_

Sara let out a long sigh. Finally. "Gil."

"_Hi."_

"Hey."

_"__I'm…uh, off to bed, so I thought…"  
_

"Yeah. Thanks. I was just heading out here. I was going to call you soon." She looked around, seeing no one, and then sat down on the bench, her head dropping forward. She faced away from the door. Her free hand ran through her mess of hair. She thought back to the morning, to calling and getting no answer, to his not calling back for sometime later. "You weren't available earlier."

_"__I know. I'm sorry." _He paused. _"Look__…_"

"It's okay. I…I can't really do this here."

"_Yeah, I know." _He paused. She hated the quiet of his voice. She bit her lip, not knowing what to say.

_"You weren't available earlier, either."_

She nodded quickly despite his not being able to see her. He'd tried calling several times as well. _"_I know. Gil..."

"_So your flight was alright?"_

"Yeah…" She could feel tears in her eyes. "Yeah, it was okay."

_"__Good."_

Sara sighed. The conversation was painful. She didn't know what else to say. There was such a disconnect. "Well, I better let you get to bed. I'm going to head home and do the same thing."

It was silent on the other end of the line. Sara closed her eyes. She leaned forward more, resting her elbow on her knee and her forehead on her elbow. "I'll call you later, okay?"

"_Yeah, okay."_

"Gil?"

"_Yeah?"_

"I love you."

There was a short pause. _"I love you too."_

"Goodnight."

_"Goodnight, Sara."_

She closed her phone and set it down on the bench. Her hand joined the other, elbow on knee, hand cradling forehead.

"Hey."

Sara looked up to see Greg leaning in the doorway. She forced a smile. "Hey, you're back."

"Yeah, you were right about the monorail cars. They were just cleaned. So were all of the stations."

"Well, there goes that." She sighed.

Greg stepped inside the locker room. "You alright?"

She nodded half-heartedly. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"You sure?"

She nodded.

"Because it kind of sounds like those six thousand miles are getting a little further."

Sara sat up. She sighed. "It's just hard, you know?"

Greg came in and sat down next to her. "Hard leaving him, coming here?"

"Yeah, that and…"

"What?"

"Never mind."

"What, Sara? What happened? You were just there. You shouldn't be feeling the strain already."

"Greg…"

"Sara, I know you don't like opening up and I know it isn't any of my business, but I can't stand seeing you like this. If you need a friend, I'm here."

Sara sighed. She hated revealing anything, but everything felt like it was becoming too much, and she knew what it cost to hold it all in. She sighed again. "We had a fight before I left."

Greg nodded. "Okay, left on bad terms. What was it about?"

She shot him a look, but Greg only held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "So you had a fight, but you won't tell me what it was about. Was it about your leaving?"

"No," Sara shook her head. "Well sort of. I started it."

"Okay." Greg paused. She could tell he was debating what to say next. "Why?"

She looked at him and then turned away.

"Hey, you picked the fight. So, why'd you pick it?"

Sara played with her fingers, squeezing each one with the index finger and thumb of her other hand. She sighed. "Her name is Isabelle Langois…"

Greg's face shot to hers. "Wait, Sara, did Grissom?"

"No," she interjected quickly, her voice raised. Her voice quieted. "No, and he wouldn't, ever, okay? It's not that."

Greg looked skeptical. She looked at him, catching his eyes. "It's not."

"Who are you trying to convince here, Sara?"

"Greg, it's really not. He wouldn't. It's not that."

"Are you sure?"

"It's not. I promise, it's not, okay?"

"Okay."

"He wouldn't, Greg."

"I know."

"Grissom takes his vows very seriously, Greg. So do I. He wouldn't."

"I know."

Sara cocked her head. She raised an eyebrow in challenge. Greg raised his hands in surrender again. "I know, Sara. It's Grissom. He is a master of self control. Even if he was ever tempted," Sara winced as Greg's words as he continued, "if anyone is good at repressing anything, it's him."

She looked at him, studying him. "Okay."

"So, who is this Isabelle Langois?"

Sara let out a breath. "Dr. Langois. She's a professor of microbiology at the Sorbonne. She's stunningly beautiful, intelligent, sharp, persuasive, well respected, and has no respect for the institution of marriage. She's got her eye on him."

"Sara..."

"Greg, it's not…just let me finish okay." It was taking enough out of her to get it out without his interrupting her with his groundless speculations. She took a deep breath and continued. "Whenever I'm around, she feels it in herself to scoff at me before him; calls me "une américaine typique," or says something in a derisive tone, in English, for us only, like 'Doctor Greesomme, your wife, she leaves you a lot, no? You must be very alone,' or in French, for everybody to hear, 'Oh, Harvard, oui, j'en ai entendu parler. C'est une bonne école'." Sara let out a small laugh. "He went to UCLA and the University of Chicago, which are both excellent schools, don't get me wrong, but he's so well respected, and deservedly so, that it doesn't matter what institution he attended or didn't attend, and he'd never be called 'un américain typique'. She just says those things to make it seem like I'm some sort of peasant. She and Grissom have their phD's and I only have a masters..."

"You commoner."

"I know. She treats me as though I'm unworthy of him, or perhaps only worthy enough to make an adequate wife. An intelligent man, she believes, should have an adequate wife and a far more compatible and exciting mistress. She'd like to be la maîtresse. She would like nothing more than to warm his bed when I'm away."

"But if she's not a threat?"

"She isn't. Sure she tries to monopolize his time, constantly makes subtle offers and asks for consultations that a doctor of her field does not need, but I know, I know, she is not any threat my marriage to Grissom. It's not even her. Over there, I'm just the wife. I visit and I'm treated like the wife, and she is, of course, the one doing most of the reminding. I was upset about our situation and I told him he'd probably be happier with someone like her, which he refused to discuss, of course. I told him just to admit that he's conflicted, which he also won't discuss. I just wanted to pick a fight, and I wanted to hurt him, which I did, and I used her, so you know, it's really not her. It's just that…"

"What?"

"It's like the time we spend together doesn't make up for the time we're apart. He's got this whole other life there and I have this whole other life here, and they're interfering with our life together, or our life together is interfering with our other lives. I don't know."

"What are you saying?"

"I don't know. I know I'm tired of traveling, of rarely seeing him. Sometimes I feel like I'm holding him back, like he could be happy in his life there if it weren't for me, like he could be happier without me. I'm afraid he really is conflicted. What if he is, Greg?"

Greg slid closer and took her hand. "No, no way. He loves you, Sara."

She nodded, ignoring his about turn. "I know." She paused. "He said long distance isn't working."

"What?"

"That's what he said during the fight. He said that I didn't want to admit the real problem, which is that long distance is not working. And it's true. It just keeps getting harder. Right now, it feels like it's not working."

"That doesn't mean marriage isn't working."

"I know, but he's committed to another semester over there and I've committed to helping you guys over here. This was supposed to be temporary, but temporary keeps dragging on. It's like we're at an impasse. I've loved him for so many years and we still can't get it together."

Greg nodded in understanding. He let out a breath. "Well, you're trying. I don't think I can say the same thing about him."

Sara pulled her hand from Greg's. "Don't, Greg. Don't do that."

"Sara, you visit him all of the time. Maybe he should come back here for once."

Sara stood, facing him. "I said, 'don't,' Greg. I know it's awfully convenient, isn't it? 'Blame Grissom.' He's allowed to feel the things he does, make the decisions he does, choose the way he does regardless of how everybody else feels and yet everybody always blames him when they don't agree. He has his reasons, and it doesn't matter what you think of them, okay?"

"Okay."

"He has come back here," she admitted quietly.

"He has?"

"Well, we met in California last summer. He spent a couple of days here too, but we didn't tell anyone."

"He had all of that time off last summer and he only spent a couple of days here."

"Greg!"

He looked up at her from the bench. "Sorry."

"He didn't have 'all of that time off.' He taught a seminar, worked on our applications for our research grants and prepared for another semester at the Sorbonne, and I didn't want to spend the days that he was here in Vegas where I could get called into work, and he didn't want that time spent with me interrupted by everyone else at the time, so I'm sorry if you didn't know he was here, but he'd said that next time he comes, he plans on letting everybody else know."

"Alright." Greg gave her a puppy dog smile. "I'm sorry?"

"So am I." Sara waved her hands about. "Anyways, thanks for listening."

Greg nodded. He stood up. "So, do you want to grab lunch?"

Sara shook her head. "No, I'm going back to the condo and crawling into bed. I'll catch you later."

Greg nodded. "Yeah. See you at shift."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter VIII**

It was the quiet she noticed first when she awoke. Lying curled on her side, she could not hear the even breathing that only occasionally now serenaded her upon her waking. If she were to inch back, she would not feel the solid warmth of another person. She would not feel a pair of arms reach for her and take her into her embrace. The absence struck at her.

She shivered. No arms around her, no solid heat in her presence, she was cold. She didn't even have any blankets. Her eyelids fluttered. Her blankets were twisted into her embrace, a makeshift form. Her other pillow was somewhere in that pile, lost in amongst the covers, providing body to the form.

She rubbed at her eyes and reached for her clock on the side table. Tilting it up, she peeked her head up and glanced at the time. Her head fell back against the pillow. She'd slept for five hours. Normally that amount of sleep wouldn't be considered a bad night, or rather, day for her, but given the sleep she'd missed with the flight the day before, she was still seriously lacking. Her eyes closed, not from her fatigue, but from her frustration. She wasn't sure what to do. She could try to go back to sleep, but the attempt would be futile and would only add to her frustration. She could try to call her husband and have a better conversation than the abridged attempt at the lab, but he would almost surely still be asleep, his sleeping habits far better than hers. It was four AM in Paris, and though they still needed to have a good conversation, to soothe some of those hurts that somehow still seemed to add up after their attempts at calling, and finally speaking, waking Grissom to have it was not the time. Until they could find the time to have the conversation they needed, she would have to live with the ever growing ache. The pain now, though, came more from the restraint in the conversation than from the fight before her departure. For the millionth time, she wished she hadn't left when things were so unresolved. He'd sounded so wounded at her words during the fight; she'd hurt him, but he'd sounded so sad and so lost when she spoke to him on the phone and she knew that leaving things the way they did only hurt more. The distance now only seemed to add to the strain.

She couldn't go back in time. It was impossible for her to undo the mistakes she made. She couldn't take back what she'd said when she'd wanted to lash out at him. She couldn't remove the absolutely despairing look from his face when she said them, nor could she remove it from her memory. Time only moves one way. The sand in an hourglass only falls; it does not fly up through the opening and rejoin the sand on top. The pain, the hurt, in those passing hours where they'd not resolved anything, had only accumulated.

Still curled on her side, Sara let the minutes pass. Not blinking, she was nearly unconscious as she stared at the wall in a daze. Her mind though was active, running through a number of different scenarios. She didn't' want to pass any time, apart from sleeping, in the condo. He still held such a presence there. It was the place they'd purchased together when they were just beginning to carve out a life together. Now, it still felt as though they were doing the same, trying to carve out a life together. The place still had all of his stuff, everything he'd left behind to join her, everything he'd been storing for that time they were finally able to settle down somewhere again. The condo was his simplicity and her vibrancy, his suggestions and her input, his and her style, his and her design, their compromise, their balance, and somehow, a place perfectly suited to both, for a time.

Pushing away the blankets, Sara decided to go for some dinner and then head into work, hoping, perhaps, she could get somewhere on her case. She couldn't call Grissom, and she didn't want to sit around in the condo where she was haunted by a life she still had, but didn't. Work seemed like the best place.

She sat up, rested for a moment, and then reached to her end table to grab her wedding ring. Holding it in her fingers, she stared down at the ring, such a simple band, but to her, on her, perfect. Sighing, she slipped on the ring and pushed herself from the bed. Drawers opened and she dressed. She grabbed her wallet, her keys, her phone, a bag with another change of cloths and headed out.

There were certain places she avoided eating at on her return to work in Vegas. The vegetarian restaurant she'd eaten at just before she'd been abducted was one of them. That evening she chose to dine at another, this one closer to her old apartment. She pulled in and parked in the outdoor lot, choosing a spot in the middle of the lot, clear, visible, open.

The meal was the largest she'd had in some time. She was so hungry from lack of food over the past day and a half, she nearly tried to make up for it in one sitting. By the time she finished, paid and walked some of it of to get rid of that bloated feeling that had hit about a half hour after finishing, and then made it to the lab, she was only three hours early for shift. It was six AM in Paris. Grissom would be just up or just waking. She thought of calling him, but didn't want to wake him if he was still asleep. She said she would call, but he usually phoned in the mornings, so, she decided she could wait. If he phoned. She wished she could be sure he would, but they had just spoken the night before, and after such a strained conversation, she was not sure he'd want to repeat it again that morning.

Sighing, Sara made her way through the halls of the lab. Various lab techs on the swing shift glanced at her as she passed, checking their watches and letting out their own sighs. They must have been hoping it was a bit later. Perhaps their day had dragged on. Well, she thought, they still had three hours. She had three hours to try to figure some things out before everybody she needed to see on the case got in. Perhaps it was too early to start work, but she didn't know what else to do. Besides, it was only three hours early, nothing Catherine could give her grief about.

The beauty of her work arrangement, with all of the time she took off to see her husband, was the amount of overtime it allowed her to put in. As long as she didn't work a double every single day she worked in a month, about twenty days on average, she would never be in danger of maxing out on overtime. So, on days like these, where she wanted to bury herself in work, or days when a major case hit and she had to put in a large amount of overtime, she could.

She pulled out her case file and made her way back through the halls. Tucking herself into a corner, she immersed herself in the file, checking over case notes, photos, documented evidence, witness statements, and the like. Her eyes wandered over the pages, flipping from one to another, interrupted by brief intrusions of lab techs entering and exiting the break room with mugs full of coffee, and then by the vibration of her cell phone.

Given that the time was nearing closer to shift, Sara knew the call could be coming from Vartann or Greg, though her hope was that it was a decidedly more long distance call instead. She pulled the phone from her slacks and looked at the display. Her eyes closed on their own accord and she sunk back into the chair cushions. She opened the phone and held it to her ear. "Hey," she spoke quietly, "good morning."

_"__Good evening, Sara."_

She smiled softly and curled her legs beneath her, her hand tugging her ankles under her thighs. She looked at her watch. They wouldn't have much time to speak before he left for the University, but it was such a relief to hear his voice.

"Hi," she spoke again, tears in her eyes. She wiped them away and swallowed the blockage in her throat before attempting to speak again. Thankfully her voice came out lighter than she felt. "So, getting ready to head out for work?"

_"__Yeah." _She could almost see him nodding on the other side of the line and her soft smile reappeared.

_"__Where are you, now? At work?"_

She nodded, snorted out a soft laugh at the involuntary action, and then replied, "Uh, yeah."

_"__Did you get any sleep?"_

Her eyes closed again. "About five hours."

_"__Sara…"_

"I'm rested," she cut in. "Look, Gil…"

_"__Listen, Sara…"_

Sara laughed softly, though it was a somewhat strained laugh. "You go."

_"__I miss you."_

Her fingers tightened their grip on her phone. Her eyes closed yet again and she burrowed into the chair. She could hear his breaths over the line and wondered if he could hear hers. Her teeth gnawed at her bottom lip. "I know. I miss you too."

_"__Listen, there's…"_ Grissom paused and Sara waited, a nervous tension beginning to coil in her stomach. Grissom's breaths came across the line a little quicker.

"What?"

She could hear the long exhale of breath. _"No, look, never mind. It's not something we should get into now. You're at work."_

Sara let out a long breath. "Yeah."

_"__And I'm about to head into work."_

"Yeah."

_"__Be careful."_

"I will."

_"__I'll call you later."_

Sara bit at her lip again. Her head bobbed up and down in a quick nod. "Yeah, okay."

_"__Goodbye."_

"Bye."

She hung up the phone and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. There were tears at the corners of her eyes that she reached up to wipe away. The conversation had not gotten any easier. She sighed and sat up, returning to her file.

For the next while she reviewed everything, the X-rays, the cause of death, position of the body, stab wounds, defensive marks, approximate measurements of the weapon, blood spatter, and so on. A few swing shift CSIs entered the break room on their way out from work. As they filled their cups for their trips home, filled out reports and readied to leave, they had the television on. Sports highlights came first, filtering into Sara's ears in bits, more problems for the big three in Miami, another week of debate on whether or not Brett Favre would make yet another start in Minnesota after another loss and another injury mounting on the abundant losses and injuries the quarterback was already shouldering that season.

After their sporting news addictions were satisfied, or after they had discovered how much they had won or lost that evening on the bets they'd placed, the swing shift CSIs switched over to the news. The main story was still the bombing at the café just off of the University of Bern campus, and Sara's ears perked up. Two more people had died in the past several hours, their injuries too critical. The rest of the critically injured were expected to make full recoveries. Officials did not yet know who had committed the terrible act, but were confident they were close to discovering the perpetrators.

Sara flipped her file closed and stood up, nodding at the swing shift CSIs in a subtle greeting. If they were on their way out, then night shift should be in. The other CSIs were not yet in the break room, but perhaps in their offices. The night shift lab techs would be in their labs.

She sent a text off to Greg, telling him she was heading to audio visual and asking him to meet her there. She tucked away her file, and then took the surveillance videos from the MGM Grand out of evidence. Approaching the AV lab, she peeked inside to find Archie sitting before his computer. She stepped inside and gave him a half smile. "Hey, Arch."

Archie looked her up and down. "Hey, Sara, listen, about yesterday, I'm sorry…"

She shook her head. "Don't worry about it."

"I didn't think…I forgot about Grissom being in…"

"It's okay, alright?"

She hoped he'd heed her words and let the subject drop. Archie studied her. "You sure?"

"Yeah, Archie." She looked at his uncertain smile and decided he needed a little more reassurance. "Look, I reacted before I got all the facts. I shouldn't have."

"It's natural, you know."

"Yeah." She grew silent for a moment and then handed the surveillance footage to him. "Look, can you go over this? I'm looking for anyone who may have gone through the parking garage and dumped a bloody sweatshirt. Look for anyone who looks suspicious and see if you can track him through all of this other footage. We think our perp may have escaped by the monorail, so pay close attention to the surveillance footage of that area."

"No problem."

"Thanks Archie."

He nodded. Sara turned just as Greg stepped into the lab. "Hey."

"Hi, Greg. Archie is going over surveillance footage."

"Good. I passed by DNA. The new lab tech looks like he's a little overwhelmed. It may be a little while longer before we get any results."

Sara smirked. "Maybe you should help him," she suggested.

Greg sighed. "Really?"

"Hodges hasn't paged with anything from trace yet, and you know how quick he is to let us know he's a master. I have to check with Mandy in prints, to see if maybe she came up with something, but we need DNA, Greg."

"Yeah, okay."

"Thanks Greg. You're the best."

"I know."

He turned and left. Sara laughed at his retreating form. Her pager beeped as she moved toward the print lab. Vartann had shoes. Veering away from her original path, she changed destinations. Like Hodges, Mandy had not yet paged her, so she decided she would give the print tech a little more time before annoying her by peering over her shoulder as the results came in. She moved towards the layout room, passing tox on her way by. Henry stopped her, calling out the door and meeting her in the hall. "Hey Sara, I ran tox on your vic. She had a blood alcohol level of .05, but other than that, she was clean, nothing else in her system.

Sara took the report and glanced at it. She hadn't really expected anything different from it. "Thanks, Henry."

Henry nodded and stepped back inside his lab. Tucking the tox report in the file, Sara continued onto the layout room.

"Hey Sara," Vartann handed her a pair of Gucci men's loafers. "Here are your shoes."

"Great. What size are you?"

"Eleven and a half."

"Ah too bad," Sara grinned. He quirked a brow and she teased, "Your feet are too big." She stopped, looked around and turned back to Vartann. "Give me a minute."

Sara left the layout room and jogged down the hall. "Hodges," she called.

Hodges turned and looked at her. "Yes?"

"What size shoe do you wear?"

His face held a look of suspicion. "Why?"

"Just answer the question, please."

"Size ten, normally."

"Normally?"

"I have a wide forefoot. If the shoe isn't fit for width, I sometimes go up a half size."

"Okay," she drew out. "Good enough. Come with me. I need you for a minute."

"Sara, I'm busy. I've been running trace on Nick and Dr. Ray's scene all day. I haven't even gotten to yours yet. If you want your results..."

Sara shook her head. "It'll just take a minute."

"Will this be a case breaker?"

"You'll help me tie up a loose end."

Hodges let out an exagerated sigh and followed her into the layout room. Sara lifted the loafers and handed them to Hodges. "Here, put these on."

Hodges eyed the pair of shoes. "You want me to put those on?"

"Yeah."

He continued to eye them.

"Hodges, they're clean. Vartann just bought them."

Hodges glanced over at Vartann.

"Just put them on."

Slowly, Hodges bent and removed his shoes. He slipped on the loafers.

Sara rolled out a long piece of paper onto the floor. She turned to Hodges. "Lift your foot."

Hodges lifted his foot. Sara rolled ink onto the outsole. "Okay, run across the piece of paper."

Hodges ran on the paper and stopped. He looked at Sara. Sara bent over and studied the shoe prints left behind. She looked up at Vartann. "The tread kept most of its detail. It's slightly smeared from the running, but not enough to match the smeared treads at the crime scene." Sara turned back to the path of treads. "You know, the treads at the scene were very bloody. Drew Bray's loafers were absolutely soaked in blood. I think we need to try it with more ink."

Vartann nodded.

"The shoe needs to be soaked."

Sara poured the liquid ink into a tray. "Here, Hodges, step in this."

"My pants..."

"Just dip the bottom of the shoes in and then run along the paper again, next to the tracks you've already laid down."

Hodges let out a breath. He dipped the loafers into the ink. As he ran, the ink dripped from his foot and spread out from the treads. It was the same indistinct tread as found at the crime scene. Sara looked up at Vartann again. "Well, evidence suggests that the shoe prints leading to and from the store could have came from Drew Bray's shoes."

"Corroborates that part of his story."

She nodded and turned to Hodges. "Thanks. You can put your own shoes back on."

Her pager buzzed. She looked down at it. "Mandy's paging me to the print lab. Here's hoping she's got something." She held out a bag for Hodges to slip the ink soaked loafers into. Quickly, she documented her results and cleaned up the layout room, Vartann giving her a hand. He took the mess from her. "Go check on prints. I'll finish cleaning this up."

She rewarded him with a wide smile. "Thanks." Then, she made her way to the print lab.

"Mandy, tell me you have something."

Mandy's eyes were on her screen. She handed Sara a couple sheets of paper without removing her eyes. "Prints on the cigarette case match your victim."

"Any others?"

"Nope, just hers." She handed Sara another print out. "Several prints on the two water bottles. Most unknown, could be distributors, store owner, other customers, and so on. One set of prints found on both water bottles did match the victim's boyfriend."

"Figures. Anything else?"

Mandy looked at Sara. "I've had this running all day." She handed Sara a sheet of paper containing a long list of names. "Matches from your elevator."

Sara looked at the long list and tilted her face back to Mandy's, her eyebrow raised. "All of these came up?"

"Work cards are in the system. Most of them work at the MGM Grand doing various jobs, a couple of dealers, security, food and beverage, valets, store clerks, you name it. Every name on there came off of a work card."

"What about anybody who doesn't work at the MGM Grand. Any names stick out? Like they're in the wrong area?"

Mandy shrugged. "You can look over the list."

Sara sighed. "Do you have anything else?"

"I have matches on two sets of partials on your purse."

"And?"

Mandy handed her a sheet of paper. "A match to your victim."

"Yeah?"

Mandy held out another sheet. "And a match to your victim's boyfriend."

"That's it? Nothing more substantive? Both are expected. It's her purse, and surely he would have held it for her, or removed something from it for her at some point."

"That's not all. Greg lifted another partial that didn't belong to either. It wasn't much to work with, but I ran it through IAFIS. No name came up, but it did match a print lifted from a crime scene two weeks ago outside of the Las Vegas Convention Center. The case is still open."

"Who handled it?"

Mandy pulled up the file. "Dayshift. Lead on the case was Jeremy Haigh."

Sara smiled. "Thanks Mandy. One last question, do you know what kind of scene?"

Mandy's eyes moved over the file. "It was a…407."

"A robbery?" Sara took the sheet of paper from her. "Mandy," she looked at the print tech, "thank you."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter IX**

Paging Vartann to meet her, Sara moved through the lab and searched for the file on the 407 outside the Las Vegas Convention Center. Finding the file, she moved to the break room and settled into a chair. Vartann joined her, sitting next to her as she placed the file onto the table. His hand rested on the back of her chair as he leaned over her shoulder to study the file.

She flipped the open and began reading the reports, relaying information to Vartann as she read. Catherine peeked her head into the break room shortly after Sara began. "Hello Lou."

Sara watched a look pass between the two. Catherine turned to her. "Sara, I had to steal Greg from you. He's got a trick role, so hopefully he won't be too long."

Sara nodded. "Okay."

"How's the case coming?"

Sara folded the file over her arm. "A print lifted off the victim's purse matched a print lifted off a 407 at the Las Vegas Convention Center a couple of weeks ago."

"Oh?" Catherine stepped towards her. "Where was that print found?"

"I'm searching for that information right now."

"Great, well, I'll leave you two to it."

Sara nodded and turned back to her file. She spent the next several hours familiarizing herself and Vartann with the crime. The 407 was a mugging under the monorail tracks on Desert Inn Road. The victim was a young female tourist who was walking to her hotel from the convention center. The perpetrator surprised the young woman with a blow to the side, and then pulled a knife on her and took her purse. Sara read on, hoping for a description, but the attack had happened at night, in the dark, and the victim could only tell the investigators that the man was Caucasian, about 5'11 to 6'1 in height, medium build. He had dark hair, brown, maybe black, and was wearing dark cloths and a hat that had concealed his face. The print was lifted off of a metal support beam that the victim had stated the perp had reached out for to steady himself on after he'd stumbled while fleeing the scene. It was one of many prints lifted from the beam, most, like that print, unknown and not followed up on.

Vartann stood up, stretching out his back before her. Sara watched as his back arched forward. He moved towards the coffee pot. "You want some?"

She rubbed at her eyes. "Yeah, that'd be great." She turned and watched Vartann pull out two mugs and pour coffee into each. He took a slow sip. "Well, you guys have started brewing better coffee around here."

"It's Catherine. Since I've been back, the coffee has been better. I think she's been splurging for some better stuff, so she wouldn't have to drink that sludge any more."

"Hmm." Vartann nodded. "Grissom didn't mind the old stuff?"

She let out a quiet laugh. "Are you kidding? He barely noticed. It kept him going, so that's all that mattered."

Sara sipped at her own. She waited for Vartann to settle back into his seat before beginning. "Both muggings happened near a monorail station. Same print found at both scenes."

"One of many unknown prints lifted from day shift's scene, though."

"Yeah, but only one of three lifted from the victim's purse at our scene. Who else would have touched her purse besides her boyfriend and herself?"

"Okay, so we have a mugger, we think escapes by monorail."

"Not yet proven."

"But he's hit two people by monorail stations, wherever he could find a dark corner, so the theory is sound."

Sara turned to Vartann, her knees coming around the side and bumping into his. She pushed her chair back slightly. "Right. He hits them first, surprises them with a blow and then pulls a knife on them."

"The victim at the Las Vegas Convention Center is still alive. What happened at the MGM?"

Sara glanced down at the file before her. "The victim at the Convention Center willingly gave up her purse. Maybe Ingrid Polt wouldn't."

"But she didn't scream or yell or anything."

"Well, she broke two ribs and punctured a lung. The injury would have come from the initial blow to her side. Maybe she couldn't scream. Maybe she just held fast onto her purse. She was scared, in a foreign country, and even if her English was good, there had to had to be a bit of a language barrier, heightened even more by the situation."

"Which he, of course, doesn't know. So, he stabs her a few times, grabs the purse and runs."

"Only he's gotten blood all over his sweat shirt."

"So he dumps it before getting onto the monorail."

Sara closed the file and leaned back. "It fits." She checked the time on her phone. "I'll talk over the scene with the lead CSI from dayshift when he comes in, in another five hours or so. Hopefully, until then, some more of my results will come in." She stood up, stretching out her muscles. "Archie has been going over surveillance footage for hours. I'm going to go check in with him."

She picked up her mug and placed it in the sink, turning on the tap to fill it with water and rinse it out. Leaving the mug full of water in the sink, Sara left the break room and headed to the AV lab. When she stepped inside, Archie turned to her. "Hey Sara, I was just compiling video surveillance for you. I was going to page you in a couple of minutes here."

"Well, I'll let you finish up."

She stood back and watched as Archie continued to work on the computer. Looking around, she spotted a chair and pulled it up next to Archie's. She sat in it, leaning forward on her elbows, and watched the monitor.

"Okay, Sara, it's ready."

"Great."

"I pulled up surveillance on a few people, mostly driving into the lot and getting out of their vehicles, or moving towards their vehicles from the Star Lane entrance. "But," Archie clicked on his mouse and brought up a screen. "I also found this. At 10:32, a man in dark clothing and a dark baseball cap enters the parking garage, carrying something in his hand."

Sara leaned forward, staring at the screen. "Is that the best view you can get?"

"Yep, pretty much. He keeps his head down and never shows his face. There is a slightly better picture near the exit to the Star Lane Shops."

The video played on. Sara watched as the man moved out of the video. Archie turned his head to Sara. "He's in a blind spot for the next minute. I think he moved to the edge of the garage. The cameras miss out on a lot of the perimeter. He'll reenter the feed on another camera."

Sara waited watching the screen. The video changed views, indicating a switch in feed. Archie had strung together several videos to get the best view of their suspect's actions.

"There," Archie pointed at the screen. The man in dark cloths reappeared, moving away from the camera, his head still down. Then, he disappeared again.

"When he comes back, he'll be without the sweatshirt and his hands will be empty."

Sara nodded. She stared at the monitor. Sure enough the man reentered the feed without a sweatshirt, wearing a dark t-shirt instead.

"Can you zoom in?"

Archie nodded and the image became enlarged before her. Sara stared at the image. The man was Caucasian, had a medium build, with dark hair, matching the description she and Vartann had read from case file earlier, though the height was difficult to tell. He still looked good as a suspect. Sara leaned forward even further. "Do you see any distinguishing features, a mole, a tattoo?"

Archie shook his head. "Let the video play on. We'll get a slightly better image later."

Sara nodded and leaned back. She let the video play, watching as their suspect moved in and out of the feed. When the suspect neared the exit, Archie paused the video. "This is the best I could get."

"Zoom in."

Archie nodded, zooming in.

"Still can't get his face."

"No, he's careful to keep his head tilted down. All of the surveillance is from above, so the best you can get is the brim of his hat."

"What does his hat say?"

Archie zoomed in on the object. "I'll increase the pixels." His hand played over the mouse, giving the still frame a slightly better resolution. "Looks like a Lakers ball cap."

"Yeah. Great. There are only about a thousand of those being worn in the city." Sara leaned back slightly. "Can you zoom out?"

Archie zoomed out, revealing all of the suspect again.

"Now, zoom in on his arms. Let's see if we can find something unique."

The screen changed again. Sara leaned forward, staring at the arm. She shook her head. There was nothing unique about it. It had no tattoos, no moles, and a couple of freckles just like what you might find on any arm. It was neither excessively hairy nor lacking in hair. Everything in the image was just as the description she'd read had been – average, from height to build to hair color to shoe size. Sara let out a breath.

Archie turned to her. "He continues on through the Star Lane Shops, but you don't get a better picture of him. His head stays down, but he does take the route you suspected." Archie played the video the rest of the way. Sara watched as the unidentified man kept his face concealed right up until he was out of the MGM Grand's surveillance. She sighed. "Well, he knew what he was doing."

"He certainly knew where all of the cameras were. Maybe he worked there."

Sara shook her head. "No. Everybody who works at the MGM Grand has a work card. The prints we found came back unknown."

"Then he's scoped out the place. He knows his way around it."

She nodded. "Thanks Archie."

"Yeah, listen, until someone else brings me some work to do, I'll keep looking. Maybe I'll find something."

Sara gave a half nod. They had watched the suspect flee the scene on the video and they got nothing. The odds of Archie finding something somewhere else were slim. He was gone. Because they were so random, street crimes had appallingly low solve rates. Unless the perpetrators were either caught red handed, or were already in the system, finding them was next to impossible. He'd left something though, and Sara consoled herself with Locard's principle. All they needed was someone with which to compare. _Good luck with that,_ she thought to herself.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter X**

It was aggravating to have surveillance footage of a suspect fleeing and still not know what the suspect looked like. She tried to put it from her mind as she picked up her phone and rang Vartann. Narrating all that she had seen on the surveillance footage, Sara gave Vartann the best description of the suspect she could, going over the probable height, build, hair color, clothing and the Lakers cap. Vartann, in turn, let her know he'd get the information out. They would have to rely on the public, something she hated doing, but, given the lack of evidence leading them to any specific person, they were running out of options. Hopefully someone would have noticed their suspect in the area and be able to offer a better description.

Her pager buzzed as she ended her call with Vartann. Glancing at it, she turned towards the trace lab. Entering the lab, she frowned when Hodges only looked up at her, not wearing his trademark smug expression, nor launching into an overly elaborate explanation of what he'd found. Two thoughts entered Sara's mind, the first being that Hodges was still in mourning over Wendy's move, the second being that Hodges had not found anything to further the case.

"Fibers on your victim are satin. They match her wrap."

"That's it?"

"There was also pavement dust on her dress."

Sara sighed. "What about the trace I lifted from the sweatshirt, or the victim's purse?"

"Trace on the victim's purse all matched contents that could be found in a garbage or dumpster, glucose, fructose, sodium, other food sources, dirt. Trace on the sweatshirt was the same, food sources, glucose, fructose, sodium, dirt. There were a couple hairs lifted, DNA sent back to me. They are from the genus Rattus norvegicus."

"Brown rats."

"Yes."

Sara shook her head. Likely the hair came from the garbage, though it could come from another source if their suspect was living in a substandard environment. He'd discarded the sweatshirt a little too readily for her to believe that was the case, though she kept the possibility open. The rat hair likely still would have come from sitting in the garbage bin. Besides, there were only a couple of hairs, so the sweatshirt would have only been in brief contact. If it came from living in a substandard environment, it didn't narrow down an area. That there were only a few hairs could also mean that the rat was merely healthy. The concentration of those hairs would increase if the rat had sores or had mites. Sara took the print out from Hodges. "Anything else?"

He shook his head.

She let out another sigh. "Well, thanks."

Filing away the print out with the rest of the reports, Sara moved towards DNA. She hadn't been paged yet, but surely the new tech had to have something. She stepped inside the lab. "Hey, where are you on my DNA?"

"Your DNA?"

She frowned. "From my case."

"I'm not finished yet."

She closed her eyes briefly. He had to have something by now. "Do you have anything? Any matches?"

The new DNA tech sighed and handed her a print out. "All of the blood swabbed at the crime scene is a match to your victim. Blood taken from footwear and from the jacket were a match. The blood on the sweatshirt you found also matches the victim."

"Great." At least their theory about the suspect's flight path received some confirmation. "What else?"

"The semen in your victim is a match to the other DNA sample you took, a Drew Bray."

"Her boyfriend."

"The DNA you scraped from under her fingernails is her own."

Sara nodded. She had scraped few epithelials, and hadn't expected to find DNA from any other source. Ingrid Polt had been put on the defensive immediately and hadn't scratched her attacker. "What about the hairs on the sweatshirt? I know you kicked a few to trace, but what about the others? Did you find any that were human?"

"Yes, but I couldn't get any DNA off of them. DNA from the saliva sample on the sweatshirt didn't have a match, but it is XY. The sample is running through CODIS now."

Sara sighed. "Okay. Let me know as soon as you get anything?

"Alright."

Taking her results, she moved away, debating what to do next. Archie was looking over her surveillance footage again, but she doubted increasing pixels would do anything to help identify someone who never showed his face. They had a print, but no one to match it to. Without a hit in CODIS, they would have nothing to help them identify a suspect.

Sighing, Sara glanced at her watch. It was nearing the end of shift. Day shift would be in shortly. She and Vartann could check in with the detective and CSI that had handled the first mugging soon. Making her way to the break room, where day shift would surely meet, Sara decided on a quick break.

She plotted herself down in a chair and began to reread the contents of her file again, and again became frustrated with the lack of leads from the evidence. Needing to distract herself for a few moments, her hand reached over for the remote and she turned the television on. She found a news station and placed the remote down.

The broadcast, at that time, was focusing on other stories, so Sara watched the print move across the bottom of the screen, her eyes scanning for information on the recent explosion in Bern. By now, information on the explosion had become a bit of an obsession. She wasn't sure why, but somehow the news seemed inexplicably linked to her inability to communicate with her husband, as though the bombing had really been in Paris and she still hadn't managed to speak to him, to discover if he was alright…if he was safe.

As the news scrolled across the bottom of the screen, Sara read of the latest breaks in finding out the perpetrators. The materials used had been traced back to a person, though the name of that person had not yet been released. The man, now in custody, did not have any known connection to the University or to the café where the explosion had occurred. She turned the T.V. off and turned back to her file.

Vartann called her to tell her he was speaking to the detective from the mugging two weeks prior. The day shift CSI had been called, and was meeting them at PD. Sara packed up her things and moved to her Denali, climbing in and heading over to the Police Department.

She met Vartann, the other detective, and Jeremy Haigh, the lead CSI on the mugging, in Vartann's office. Taking a seat next to Vartann, Sara went over the evidence they had, conferring with the CSI and detective from the other case. As she spoke, informing them of what they had and didn't have, her pager buzzed. It was the new DNA tech. CODIS had come up empty. They were no closer to finding their suspect. She sighed, passing on the information.

Jeremy Haigh reviewed the print found at his scene, and spoke of how the suspect's flight took him through the Las Vegas Convention Center's parking lot. Sara looked to Vartann, her eyes meeting his, seeming to come to the same conclusion; flight through the parking lot would bring the suspect to the access to the monorail station. No further in their investigation, though with slightly better understanding, the two day shift investigators left, leaving Sara alone with Vartann in his office. She sunk down in the chair. "Without someone to match all our evidence, we have nothing."

Vartann nodded.

Sara sighed. "He's escalated, you know. First it was just a mugging. Now he's killed someone. It might not have been his intention when he went to mug Ingrid Polt, but it happened and it's something he can't take back."

"Maybe it'll scare him off mugging again."

"You know that isn't going to happen. It's just going to get easier for him to kill again. He's crossed a line he can't return from. He's now a murderer. He's already killed. Criminals usually escalate. They rarely stop. He was a mugger, somebody who terrorized his victims. He gets off on the terror. Now he's realized a new level of terror. He's used his weapon, and he's just going to continue on until we catch him."

"Sara," Vartann sighed in only a way Grissom ever had while saying her name, a sigh of wanting to warn but not wanting to hurt. He paused and ran his hand through his hair. "We don't have anything."

"I know."

"Until we get something…"

"I know."

"I hate to put this to bed for now, just like you,"

"I know that, I do."

Vartann nodded. "I guess we should let the boyfriend know."

Sara nodded. "Yeah," she spoke quietly. They would have to answer questions. Drew Bray would want to know why. What could she tell him? There was no why. The crime was not out of love or hate or revenge. She wasn't a target carefully chosen, nor was she chosen out of anger. She was a victim of circumstance, wrong place, wrong time, as cliché as it sounded. The crime was completely senseless. The young woman, with a life ahead of her, did not have to die. Drew Bray would want answers, and there weren't any she could give him. She still had to talk to him though. She let out a breath. "Where is he?"

"Still at the Sahara. He was staying there until we could finish our investigation."

Sara nodded again. Vartann stood up, and scratched at the back of his neck. "Do you want to ride over there together? I could drive."

"Yeah," she spoke quietly. "Thanks."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter XI**

Sara stood next to the hotel room door as Vartann knocked. It was quiet on the other side, but after a few moments, the faint sound of shuffling could be heard. The door opened slowly and Drew Bray stood before her, looking disheveled and anxious.

Sara stood back as Vartann nodded at the hotel room. "Hello Drew. Do you mind if we step inside?"

Drew Bray nodded, stepping aside to let them in. Sara's eyes scanned the room, the bed that looked as though it had been slept on but not in, a suitcase of men's cloths open, another of women's, more women's wear, formal, hanging in the closet, two rings lying on the bed.

She watched as Drew Bray paced the room. He turned his eyes on them. "Have you found out anything?"

"Only that she was mugged."

"So she was killed so that someone could steal what little she had on her?"

Sara pursed her lips and nodded. "I know it doesn't make any sense. She was just..."

"In the wrong place at the wrong time," Vartann finished and Sara winced at how cliché and contrived it all sounded, though she'd had the same thought herself.

"Do you have any idea who?"

Sara shook her head. "No, Drew. We've processed all of the evidence from the scene though. Whoever did this, well, he didn't leave us enough to find him yet."

"We're still looking though," Vartann cut in, "and we'll keep looking, but right now, we are out of leads."

Drew Bray nodded sadly and sat down on the bed. He removed the square framed reading glasses from his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. Sara pulled up a chair and sat across from him, leaning forward slightly. "The good news is that he's left some of himself behind, so if we ever pick him up for anything, or if we get any leads, we'll be able to match him to the evidence he's left us with."

The glasses fell from Drew Brays fingers onto the bed. His head tilted down, he nodded again.

"The, uh, coroner has released the body, so..."

Drew Bray looked up, his lips pursed. "Her parents are flying in. They are going to make arrangements to transfer her back to Switzerland."

Sara stared at him, watching as his shoulders dropped. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," he began. "Go back for the funeral, and then maybe go back home for a bit." Sara watched as he picked up the two rings and squeezed them in his palm. His fist opened and he stared down at the rings. "We picked out the rings a couple of days ago. We would have been married yesterday." He paused and it quieted.

"I'm so sorry..." Sara began, trailing off, wondering how she was going to finish that sentence. Sorry for his loss? Sorry that she couldn't resolve anything for him? Sorry for not finding out who'd taken Ingrid from him? Sorry that she was sitting before him, and unable to provide any real comfort or understanding?

Drew Bray shook his head. His voice grew wistful. "You know, I met Ingrid while I was an international student in Switzerland. I'd just started my masters; she'd had a couple of years left on her Batchelor's. She was so beautiful and so intelligent and curious and insightful; I fell in love instantly. The next year, we got a place together."

He paused again, playing with the rings in his hand. "I keep thinking, what were we doing here? It was Ingrid. I wanted to stay in Switzerland and do my PhD there. She could have started on her masters there as well. It was so beautiful over there, so perfect. We stayed over the summer, but Ingrid talked me into coming back to the States. I'd countered every argument, but she said something that made me just want to follow her. And it wasn't what she said, but how she said it, the way she smirked, the way her eyes shone with her amusement. She said, 'let's go back. We'll add a few hours to our life. We'll be that much younger in America.' How do you argue with that?" He let out a soft, sad laugh. "Who would want to? So, I followed her back, applied to UCLA, started my PhD there and then came here to marry her."

Drew Bray let out another small laugh, though this one was as rueful as it was sad. "You know what I keep thinking? I keep thinking about what we'd be doing if we'd stayed in Switzerland. She died at night here, but it would have been the next morning over there. When she was attacked, when she died, do you know what we would have been doing? We would have been drinking coffee and eating breakfast before we had to make our way to our classes. I'd be staring at her over a small bistro table, sipping on my coffee, knowing I didn't want to be anywhere else."

He paused again and Sara felt her stomach twist. She didn't say anything, only waited for Drew Bray to continue. He took a deep breath and continued in his wistful tone. "There was this nice little cafe just off campus and on our way to the University. There were a few on campus, but there was this one, this little café just off the campus that we always went to. Every morning, before class, we stopped and ate at that café. That's where we would have been when Ingrid was attacked over here. She hadn't added any time onto her life."

While Drew Bray spoke, Sara straightened up in her chair. Her heart was in her throat. Her mind was running, thinking, calculating. The student card they'd found was from the University of Bern. She calculated the time and felt her breath catch. "Drew, the café, were there others around?"

He shook his head. "Not near campus."

She stared at him. She almost felt sick. Ingrid and Drew had avoided one terrible tragedy only to be victim to another. Continuing to stare forward, Sara's mind ran through the tragic circumstances. It was an incredible coincidence, she mused, thinking of how Grissom didn't believe in coincidences. What would he call this?

Sara inched forward in her chair. "Drew, do you know what's been going on in the world, in Bern, in the past few days?"

He shook his head. "My entire world has been here."

Sara nodded. "There was an explosion at a small café just off of the University of Bern campus. Everyone in the cafe was killed. It happened at roughly the same time Ingrid was attacked here."

"What?" He looked at her, his face full of confusion. "What? No."

"There weren't any other cafés?"

A dazed look on every feature, Drew Bray shook his head again. "No, just the one." He paused. "An explosion? No..no, it can't be…no…"

Sara sighed, feeling at once, completely drained of energy and absolutely heartbroken for the young man across from her. "Had you been there, both of you would have likely been killed."

Drew Bray closed his eyes. "Why?"

"They don't know that yet."

His eyes remained pinched shut. Sara watched as his breaths grew deep. For moments all she saw was the slow rise and fall of his chest. Then, his eyes relaxed. He opened them and stared forward. "You know, I still would have preferred to have been there. Ingrid died on Wednesday. If we'd have been in Switzerland, she would have seen yesterday. She would have had one more tomorrow."

Sara nodded again. "I really am very sorry."

He nodded again, the bob of his head quick, his eyes not on her. Sara stood and turned to Vartann, nodding towards the door. He nodded in reply and reluctantly, uselessly, they left Drew Bray with his grief.

It was silent on the ride back to the station. Sara was staring out the window, her eyes fixed on the passing buildings and streets, thinking about the case and hating how it would remain, for a time, or forever, unresolved. She hated leaving anything without a resolution. Travelling down the strip, her eyes on the glitzy Vegas lights, Drew Bray's words and regrets circled through her mind.

Vartann pulled into a parking space and turned off the vehicle. Sara gripped the door handle and turned back to Vartann. "Well," she began, and couldn't think of anything to say. Her thoughts were too focused elsewhere. She grew silent and then opened her mouth. "You got any plans for the day?" she asked conversationally, having inserted the statement in only to fill the strange silence she'd created.

Vartann let out a breath. "Not really. I thought I'd see what Catherine was up to."

Sara nodded. Vartann looked over at her. "Sara, you've known and worked with Catherine some time now. Has she always been this closed off?"

Sara's eyebrows rose. Catherine, above every one else, except for maybe Greg, had been the most forthcoming about her life. She could only remember a couple of times where Catherine really withheld anything, and both of those times had painful or particular circumstances surrounding. Sara shook her head. "I've never gotten that impression. She's always been pretty open, with her past, how she feels, who she is, what she wants..."

Vartann's face dropped slightly. It was clearly, not the response he'd been hoping for. Sara studied his expression and sensed his relationship with Catherine was paining him as much as the recent fight with Grissom was paining her. He looked as though he needed a friend, someone to understand what he was going through. Perhaps he sensed the same in her, or maybe he thought back to how her relationship with Grissom was once, a couple of years before, when she'd waited for Grissom to decide. Perhaps he'd hoped she could reassure him about his. He was clearly, very much in love with her colleague, and she now sensed the hesitation came more from Catherine's side. Sighing, Sara lifted the door handle and opened the door, taking a step out. When she was half way out, she stopped and turned. "Hey Lou," she began, using his first name for possibly the first time ever.

He turned to her. She gave him a soft smile. "I really hope it works out for the two of you."

He nodded. "Thanks, Sara."

She nodded in reply. _Keep faith, _she thought, and stepped the rest of the way out of the vehicle. Striding to her car, she climbed in and returned to the lab.

Catherine was still in her office when Sara arrived. Sara knocked softly on the doorframe and entered when Catherine waved her in. "Hey, Sara, you finish up the case?"

Sara shook her head. "No. We've got DNA and prints, but whoever did this, is not in the system. I'm not sure where to look anymore."

"Well, keep it open. Hopefully a lead will come up." Catherine stopped, and looked up. "Time to move on."

"Yeah." Sara stepped inside. "You got a minute, Cath?"

Catherine's eyes were on her. She nodded. "Yeah, sure."

Sara turned back and closed the door behind her. Unsure of herself, she took a few tentative steps forward and then sank in the chair across from Catherine's desk. "Look, Cath, I know I just got back, but I was wondering if I could take a few more days." She paused and looked down at her fingers before returning her eyes to Catherine. "Actually, I would need a week."

Catherine's eyes were on her again, appraising. Sara felt the need to look away, but only pursed her lips instead. "I wouldn't ask, but there's something I need to take care of."

Catherine nodded. "Sure, Sara."

"Starting now?"

"If that's what you need."

Sara nodded and stood. "Thank you, Catherine."

Catherine only nodded in reply. Sara eyed Catherine for a few moments, briefly wondering if she should say something to Catherine in support of Vartann. The decision not to came quick. She didn't want to interfere. She hated it when others interfered. Vartann and Catherine would have to work everything out on their own. She had enough to concern herself with. Turning away from Catherine, Sara left Catherine's office and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter XII**

Turning her key in the lock slowly, Sara tried to be as quiet as possible as she entered the flat. It was late and she didn't want to wake him.

After having managed to catch a redeye from Vegas Friday evening, Sara spent the past day on airplanes or waiting to transfer flights in airports. Normally she tried to take as direct a route as possible, but booking last minute, her flight had taken her from Vegas to Chicago to Boston, New York, London, and then, finally, Paris. She'd called him before leaving, and then again from New York, checking in only so that he wouldn't worry about not getting a hold of her. She'd played a bit deceptive, lied a little by omission, been impassive, acted unresponsive, ended the calls shortly, not telling him of her plans. She'd let him believe she was either busy at work, or about to go to sleep at the condo, and she'd hated the effort it took both to deceive and to hang up the phone after each call. All she wanted was to know how he would react to seeing her.

Slipping off her shoes and her jacket, Sara tiptoed through the house. She was too tired to notice anything but the path before her. Her hand landed softly on the bedroom doorknob and slowly, she turned the handle, pushing the door inward and wincing at the slight creek it made.

Peering inside, she stopped. Tears formed in her eyes. She couldn't breathe; could only stare. Her tears began to blind her and she wiped them away, still staring forward, air caught in her throat. How was it possible he still stole her breath? She leaned against the doorway and gazed at him.

Lying on his stomach, Grissom's upper torso and shoulders were bare, the blanket and sheet resting just below. His back rose and fell with slow, even breaths. His head rested in between two pillows. His hair look ruffled with sleep. His right arm flung over her side, his hand splayed across the bedding. His other arm was up near his face, his hand fingering the corner of one pillow.

Another tear slipped from Sara's eye. He was wearing his wedding ring. It was something she hadn't seen him do while sleeping before. Whenever she was around, he took it off to sleep, just as she did hers. She didn't know if he'd always worn it in sleep while she was away, or if it was just now, but still, the gold band rested on the fourth finger of his left hand.

Moving towards the bed, Sara took a seat, the bed dipping below her weight. Grissom's eyelids fluttered open. He stared at her, tired, confused. "Sara?"

"Hey," she whispered, her voice choking with emotion.

Grissom's eyes closed and opened again. He turned up onto his side, just slightly. Sara leaned over him and let her fingers play through his ruffled hair.

"Hmm," he hummed and she smiled softly. Her hand ran down the length of his right arm, giving gentle squeezes as it moved. It landed on his hand. "Is this spot taken?" she teased.

"It's my wife's spot," he mumbled, his eyes closing again. His hand lifted to her waist and gave a gentle tug. Sara smiled and curled on the bed, letting his body spoon hers.

His arms wrapped around hers and she took his left hand in hers, playing with the gold band. "Please, don't be a dream," he mumbled, the timber of his voice falling as he began slipping back into sleep.

Sara's tears fell a little quicker. She turned in his arms, facing him. His arms moved around her and she could feel his ring gliding over her shirt as he gently ran his hands up and down her back.

Sara scooted forward, one arm tucked between their bodies, the other draped over his side. Her fingers ran lightly over his back. Her head fell into his shoulder. She breathed him in and let a few more tears fall. "I'm so sorry," she whispered through her tears.

"I am too."

Her forehead resting on his shoulder, she shook her head. "No, this one is on me, completely. I started everything. You didn't deserve any of the things I said to you."

"Ssh, Sara. I know why you said them. Long distance has been hard on me too."

"I know."

And she did. She knew how he buried himself in his work, just as she did in hers. She knew that the flat without her in it was as bleak as the condo in Vegas without him. She knew the reminders of her were as difficult as the reminders of him. She knew how alone he felt when she wasn't around, wasn't nearby, wasn't in his arms or in reach of them.

"I love you so much," she whispered, pulling herself closer to him.

"I know you do. I love you too, Sara."

She cried a little more. His hand moved over her head, combing down her hair, soothing her. "We'll talk tomorrow," he whispered.

She smiled against him, nodded and closed her eyes. She was so tired, and finally ready to let herself collapse. "Goodnight Gil."

"Goodnight," he whispered, his voice falling off as he slipped off once again.

They woke up early the next morning, Grissom before her. He was staring at her when she opened her eyes, the expression in his eyes utterly soft and adoring, full of surprise and wonder. She felt her breath catch just slightly and unconsciously inched forward. He smiled softly at her and tenderly brought his fingers to her cheek, resting them there before moving a lock of hair to behind her ear. Sara would have been content to lie in his arms all morning, if she thought she could actually lie there. She was still in her traveling clothes, feeling a little sweaty and dirty. Her muscles, after all that time on a plane, were ready for some exercise, and there was something else she wanted to do.

Pulling herself from her husband's arms, she climbed out of bed, leaving him with a light kiss, pressed to his forehead. She showered, dressed and stepped out into the flat's main living space, taking time now to look around. Grissom had several books open on the coffee table. Pages and pages of notes were scattered about. His reading glasses were set on a book, upside down, the temples folded out. He had been burying himself in work.

Grissom appeared in the living area, pulling on a sweatshirt as he approached her. His hand ran through his hair and he glanced at the kitchen. "Uh…what do you want me to make you for breakfast? There isn't a lot…"

"Let's go out," she suggested, hoping he'd agree. "Let's go for a walk and find a small café that's open for breakfast."

Grissom gave her a soft smile. "At this hour?"

Sara turned and found a clock. It wasn't yet six o'clock and this wasn't Vegas. Many of Paris's cafés weren't even open for breakfast, though scattered amongst those were others where you could get a coffee and croissant or a few other breakfast items. She turned back to Grissom. "Well, we can walk around for an hour. One or two will start to open up around seven."

"It's a little chilly out," he warned softly.

"I'll bundle up. Please?"

"Of course."

Sara wrapped herself in a warm jacket, snow cap, scarf and mittens. Grissom donned his own warm jacket and scarf, though he wore gloves rather than mittens, and left off any hat. Smiling, Sara reached her mitten clad hand out to her husband and led him out the door.

Mitten clad hand in gloved hand, they strolled through the Latin Quarter. With each step through the narrow streets, Sara found herself leaning more and more into her husband's side. It was chilly out, but walking along side her husband, Sara never thought to mind the cold. For awhile, they merely strolled through the streets, watching as the first of les boulangeries began to open. Without a thought to the cold, or to where they were going, but only to the comfortable presence of each other, they continued to stroll silently along the walk, until they spotted a small café just opening.

Tugging on Grissom's hand, Sara slipped into the small establishment. She chose a small bistro table near the window and took a seat, staring at her husband as he sat across from her. His eyes remained on her as she removed her mitts and he, his gloves. A brief interruption from the owner of the café brought Grissom's eyes from her. Each ordering un café au lait et un croissant, they let their attention fall back to each other.

"How long can you stay?" he asked.

"Only four days. My flight back departs Thursday morning."

He nodded, the expression in his eyes dulling. She watched as he forced a smile. "It isn't long until I'm off for Christmas. I'll come down."

Sara shook her head. "No, I don't want to do Christmas in Vegas. I want to spend Christmas in Paris."

"Okay. I could come for a week before, and then we can travel back to Paris together."

"Will you be done marking papers and exams by then?"

Grissom nodded. "Yeah. We just met about setting up the exam schedule. The exam for my class is going to be one of the first, so I should be able to finish marking before the exam period is even over."

Sara let out a brief nod. It was quiet for a moment. Their coffees and croissants came and they began to sip and nibble silently.

"I spoke to Ecklie," she started, watching as the Grissom's left eyebrow rose. "I've asked him to start looking for a new hire. Even if I have to stick around, help the guys and help train any new hire until things get settled over there, at least it gives me a bit of a time frame for when I can leave."

Grissom nodded. He looked across at her. "I spoke to the Dean about possibly ending my contract early, canceling my class next semester."

Sara looked across at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You don't want to do that."

He shrugged.

"Gil, the class is already full. There's a waiting list. Do you really want that?"

"I want to spend more time with you. I don't want to fight with you when my schedule gets in the way and I don't want you to ever doubt the place you hold in my life."

"I don't."

"Sara, you are the only entity that has ever made me truly happy. Nothing can ever be a substitute for that."

She nodded, a tear in her eye. "I know. I do."

"Do you?" He paused, his soft eyes watching her carefully. She nodded. She knew. He smiled and let his stare fall away. "Anyways, the Dean begged me to reconsider, so as another option, I also asked about maybe rescheduling the class instead, holding it on Tuesdays and Thursdays instead of Monday, Wednesday, Friday. It would take some major reworking, but the Dean is willing if it means I'll stay on. He said it could be doable, but I didn't want to make any decisions until I spoke to you. It wouldn't give me enough time to go see you, but if you plan flights for midweek, we'd have Fridays through Mondays completely uninterrupted. We could even meet somewhere occasionally…"

Sara nodded. "It could work."

"I didn't mean what I'd said when I told you it wasn't working. It's just so hard rarely seeing you."

"I know. Whatever we decide, we'll make it work."

He nodded. Sara finished the last of her croissant and washed it down with a final sip of her coffee. She stared down at her small cup, playing with the mug in her fingers, so many thoughts still on her mind, waiting to get a voice. Drew Bray's anguished face came to her and she thought of how random life was, how random Ingrid Polt's death was and how strangely random it also could have been had she been one of the victims of the explosion in Bern instead. What if Ingrid Polt and Drew Bray had spent the semester in Bern rather than Los Angeles? Months had separated their lives in Bern with Ingrid's death in Vegas, and yet it still felt as though they could have fallen victim to the explosion. She wondered if a person really had a day to die, if life and death were based on chance, if Ingrid Polt had been given three paths, two ending tragically, one ending with another chance. What would have happened if Drew Bray and Ingrid Polt had stayed in Los Angeles that week rather than taking a trip to Vegas to elope? It wasn't something that Drew Bray had considered in his grief. His mind had moved to where he was most happy, with Ingrid in Switzerland.

Staring at the rim of coffee circling the bottom of the mug, Sara thought about how the explosion had effected her. It had occurred thousands of miles away and yet it had left a mark. She would never forget the fear that overwhelmed her before she found out that the explosion was in Bern. So far, the reason for the attack hadn't been discovered. It was still random. Somewhere, sometime, she thought, something random could still take Grissom from her, a small crime, a large tragedy, a life merely shutting down with age. She ached at the thought. Tilting her mug a little, she watched the last of the cream colored coffee pool at the bottom. "Did you pay much attention to the explosion at that café in Bern?"

She lifted her eyes to see Grissom nod. "It was the main topic of discussion at that dinner I went to with the members of the faculty."

Sara took a deep breath. "I heard about it when I got into the lab. I'd just arrived in Vegas and Archie only told me that a deadly explosion had occurred at a café just off some university campus in Europe. I hadn't gotten a hold of you yet…"

"Oh, Sara. I'm so…"

Sara put up her hand. "Even after I knew it was Bern, and even after I'd heard your voice, I couldn't stop myself from picturing you in that explosion, your phone lying abandoned, blackened on the ground…"

Grissom shook his head. "Sara, honey, I'm sorry." He paused, his eyes soft at first, and then, knowing. "I know what you mean, though. Your job is supposed to be safe, but it can be so dangerous and unpredictable. When you're over there working and I can't get a hold of you, I don't know where you're at, at the condo, at a crime scene, at the lab, if you're safe, I often see your cell phone, abandoned in the back of your Prius, lying just as Brass described it the night you were abducted… You're so far away; I never know where you are, if you're safe…"

Sara reached over and placed her hand on his. "I'm here now. I'm safe."

"I know." He slid his hand from beneath hers and grasped it, lifting it to his mouth. She could feel his lips upon her fingers. Warm breaths left his mouth and seeped into her, filling her, his life in her. "I'm here too." She nodded. He nodded in reply and put down her hand. His eyes wandered from her face to her empty cup and empty plate. He nodded at it. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah," she breathed out, standing and moving around to his side. Grissom opened his wallet, took out a few bills and left them on the table. She put her mittens back on and waited for Grissom's hands to return to his warm gloves before extending a hand for him to take once again.

In no rush to return to the flat, at least not yet, though Sara did look forward to crawling back into bed and cuddling with her husband, she and Grissom strolled through the streets. They headed north and found themselves on le quai Malaquais. Strolling along La Seine, they stopped before Pont des Arts, the romantic pedestrian bridge belonging to lovers, and decided to cross over to Le palais du Louvre. From there, they continued to stroll along the river, choosing to cross back over Le pont Neuf.

Stopping at the center of the bridge, Sara watched something fall and land on their path. She looked up to see puffy white snowflakes slowly descending from the sky. Standing, she looked out over the river and felt Grissom's hand land on her back, warm, even through layers of clothing.

"Paris's first snow of the season," he whispered and she turned to him, her eyes and mouth smiling.

He stared at her as he'd done earlier that morning. She watched him stare, wondering at how his gaze could hold such intensity. She felt subconscious beneath the stare. "What?" she asked, a little breathlessly.

"Your cheeks are rosy."

Her mittened hands lifted to her cheeks, her fingers pressing the fabric against the cold skin. "Oh? It is a little cold."

Grissom's hands lifted and removed hers. He was still staring at her, holding her wrists to her sides. "Sara, honey, please don't take this the wrong way because I'm infinitely glad of the choice you made, but why did you decide to come back?"

She stared at him and took her time with her thoughts. Taking a deep breath, she pulled her arms from his grasp and peeked down at the time. It was Sunday in Paris, but it was still Saturday in Vegas. On a normal night, where she was only slightly early, she would just be arriving for shift. It was still yesterday. She stepped closer to Grissom. "I wanted to see what tomorrow looked like."

Grissom stared at her, his features still with thought. She loved this about him, how he pondered and considered and respected her words even if they didn't make sense to him. His eyes remained in thought. "And?"

Sara turned and looked out at the snow falling over the river. She could feel Grissom step behind her, the warmth of his chest on her back, his gloved hands on her arms. She tilted her head back and looked at her husband, gazing at her with a hint of nervousness and an abundance of love. "I'm so glad I did," she whispered, turning in his arms again and staring up at him. "It's beautiful. I would never have wanted to miss this."

His face swooped to hers and he kissed her, brief, unexpected, warm. "Let's go home," he whispered, taking her hand.

_fin_


End file.
